


To Die and to Live

by Louuve (ManuLouuve)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Adoption, Arthur Morgan Lives, Arthur deserves all the love, Arthur gets a kid, Arthur is only tactile with kids and you can't change my mind, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Cynophobia, Domesticity, Dubious knowledge about horses, F/M, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Gen, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery of sorts, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, i don't control this oc she literaly write the story herself, i think? didn't mean it to happen but it did, lot of time skip, the first five chapters are mainly soft and then the plot comes in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManuLouuve/pseuds/Louuve
Summary: “What are your thoughts on family, Cassiopeia?”“I… I think it’s important. To have one. Even when it’s not easy.”Cassiopeia is nine years old when she meets Arthur Morgan. He’s a strange man, who seems to have seen many things and lost even more. He helps her after she got out of the worst part of her life, and she welcomes him in her heart.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan & Original Child Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Charles Smith & Original Character(s), Jack Marston & Original Character(s), John Marston & Arthur Morgan, Mary Gillis Linton & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 61
Kudos: 83





	1. To Meet

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I'm very happy to produce my very first Red Dead Redemption fanfiction after all the ones I've read!
> 
> Before you start, I want you to know that I'm French, so I'm very sorry for any mistakes, but mostly for Arthur accent. I really tried to do it justice, but, well, it probably isn't exactly accurate... I'll take any advice on it!

Cassiopeia was running. Running, and running, and _running_ . She was going straight forward, barely watching her surroundings and avoiding the trees of the forest. There was a knife, her knife – _the one they gave her_ – in her right hand and the gun she’d stolen into her left. It was a revolver, too big for her small hand, but she was holding it like a lifeline, it was the only thing that could protect her from anyone, from all the adults out there who could try to harm her, and steal her away.

And she kept running. Running until she couldn’t breathe anymore. Until her legs failed her and she stumbled on the hard ground.

She wasn’t safe. She was far from safe. But she was tired, oh so tired. She curled on herself, not able to do anything else, and let exhaustion claim her.

She dreamed of blood, screams and death.

***

When Cassiopeia woke up, she felt warm. The night sky was above her, full of stars, and there was a fire beside her, she could hear the sound of burning woods and smell the smoke it made. There was a mattress under her, she was tucked under covers and there were new clothes on her skin, a shirt way too big for her and very warm socks.

She bolted upright, scared to her core, not trusting anyone who could have take care of her – they would want something in return, they always do, no one help someone for nothing, that’s what they told her, to not trust anybody except them, but even them she couldn’t trust, they were mean, brutal, _scary_ —

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” said a voice beside her, startling her. She jumped on her feet, ready to flee - but not without her knife or the gun, she needed them – and found herself face to face with the blue eyes of a stranger. He was sitting beside the fire, cooking something over the flames, but the food was deeply forgotten because he was now staring at her like an eagle. He had short brown hair, almost blond, and a thick beard covering his skin. He had mud on his pants, but his blue shirt looked clean, just like the black hat beside him on the ground.

Cassiopeia thought he looked rather old, with many wrinkles, between his eyebrow, on his forehead and at the corner of his eyes. A long time ago, her mother told her they were wrinkles of happiness. Yet, this man didn’t look very happy.

“It’s okay,” he said again with a deep voice, putting what he was cooking aside. He raised both of his hands, showing her how empty they were. It didn’t mean he couldn’t harm her.

“Where’re my weapons?” she asked, trying to look scary with her small voice, baring her teeth.

“There.” He pointed at a place near a very tall black horse, apparently asleep, and she saw everything she had was on log. She even spotted her old clothes, drenched in blood. “Take ’em, if you want.”

She studied him for a second, and even though he returned to cooking, she knew his attention was all on her. Not leaving him out of her sight, she slowly walked near her belongings. The horse didn’t move when she quickly grabbed her knife with both hands, threatening the man.

He looked up at her. “Ya’re goin’ to hurt yourself with that.”

“No.” She won’t, because they had taught her how to use this knife, how to hurt, how to _kill_. She got closer. “Who are you?” she snarled.

“Arthur Morgan.” Easy enough to remember. “You?”

Cassiopeia stared at him. There was no way she was going to answer this question. Arthur only laughed, a short sound, coming from the back of his throat, and just shrugged. “Sure. I’ll just call you kid.” He could call her whatever he wanted, she couldn’t care less. “How old are you?”

She hesitated, before choosing to tell the truth. They didn’t ask her that, back there. “Nine.”

She heard the sharp breath he took, and for a second he really looked dangerous, but the impression instantly disappeared. She could only frown, not sure if she had dreamed it or not. “That’s pretty young, to have a knife.”

Cassiopeia huffed. “I have it since I’m six.” His eyes widened for a second, and she spotted dots of green in the blue, before he frowned, clearly not pleased by her answer. She tightened her grip on the knife. An adult not pleased was a dangerous adult.

“Okay,” he finally said after studying her for a moment. And he turned back to his food.

There was her opportunity. She jumped on him, ready to put her knife in his chest again and again _and again_ , just how she did it to them.

Arthur turned around, grabbed her wrists with only one hand and took the knife from hers, cutting his own palm with the blade. He throwed it away as Cassiopeia started to scream, trying to scare him, to make him feel guilty even though he wasn’t hurting her. She tried to pull away from his grip, bite him, scratch him, but he was too strong, too big, too old, there was nothing she could do to escape from him, and he was going to hit her, to make her pay, she knew it.

Suddenly, there was a hand on her shoulder, a bloodied one, and he let go of her wrists. Cassiopeia stumbled backward, but he steadied her so she wouldn’t fall. She made a surprised sound, not sure of what to do, what to say, because the pressure on her was warm, firm, harmless. She stopped screaming and moving and just looked into his blue eyes dotted with green, shining with the fire light.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice deep and small, a whisper. “I won’t hurt you.” She was tempted to believe him, really, because the last time someone touched her like that, it was her mother and she was dead. He grabbed her other shoulder, and she shivered, not from the cold, but from something much deeper, like she was returning to something she had since long lost. She felt tears coming to her eyes, and she didn’t try to suppress them.

“You’re okay,” Arthur said again, and she knew he really meant it.

The tears started to fall, but she didn’t make any sound. Her visions blurred and she trembled, feeling like her legs were giving up on her, and Arthur just took her into his chest, putting her head on his shoulder, allowing her to let go of everything she’d been through. And she did.

She cried hard on him, ugly sobs shaking her whole frame while she grabbed his shirt, burying her head onto it and letting go. He started to rock her, holding her tight and Cassiopeia never felt safer.

***

Cassiopeia didn’t remember it, but she had probably fallen asleep at some point. When she woke up again, on the same mattress and in the same covers, the sun was barely rising. She kept staring at the sky for long minutes, seeing how its color changed, trying to focus on that, emptying her mind. A flock of birds passed above them, chirping lightly, and stag bellowed into the distance.

She jumped at a snore beside her. She quickly turned her head, expecting to see someone she didn’t know, but was just greeted by the sight of Arthur, sleeping in a mattress of leaves, arms crossed behind his head and hat on his face. How did he manage to sleep like that?

She fully turned to him, curling on herself, watching him sleep. He kept snoring for a moment, before his breaths started to quicken, his legs twitching. Cassiopeia frowned. Was he dreaming?

A loud crack suddenly resonated into the woods, startling her again. But she got more frightened by Arthur, immediately upright, drawing his gun out in a swift movement, aiming right in front of him. His hat fell on his tights, and Cassiopeia was able to see the look in his eyes, full of anger and fear, breathing heavily. She didn’t dare to move, not wanting to attract attention to her, realizing how dangerous the man really was.

Then he blinked, realizing he was aiming at nothing. He heaved a sigh, rubbing at his face with a bandaged hand, his gun’s one slightly shaking. He grunted then, stretching his shoulders in circles, his joint creaking, before coughing shortly. He slowly got up, putting the gun back in its holster, and headed to the horse. It nickered at him, clearly pleased to see him awake.

“Hey, girl,” he quietly said, petting her head. She snored at him, going for his chest, searching for something. “A’right, a’right.” He laughed softly, reaching for the satchel on her back, finding some sugar cubs to give her. She made a low sound, enjoying the candy, before brushing her lips on his hair, making him laugh more.

Cassiopeia liked the sound. It wasn’t the kind of giggle _they_ always made, sounding more crazy than happy. Arthur’s laugh was low, as if it rumbled through his whole chest, with short sounds finally coming out like thunder.

She kept watching him as he started to groom his horse, even if the mare didn’t need it. He seemed to like doing it, taking much care of her hair and her fur, scratching a spot between her ears then under her chin.

“What’s her name?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Arthur didn’t exactly jump, but he made a stuttering move with his hands. When he turned to her, he wasn’t smiling, but there was an amused light in his eyes. “Artemis,” he answered.

Like the goddess? “It’s pretty.” She rose up, sitting on the mattress. Even though the shirt she was wearing was thin, she wasn’t cold. September was just starting and the air was still hot with summer.

“Wanna pet her?” Arthur asked, a small smile tugging at his lips. Cassiopeia hesitated, not entirely sure. “Don’t worry, she’s very kind. Ain’t ya, girl?” The mare snorted as he patted her side, trying to understand his playful ton.

Artemis did seem kind. After thinking about it a little more, Cassiopeia finally got up, the end of the shirt brushing her bare knees. She took away the warm socks, rather being barefoot, before slowly walking to Arthur and the horse. Next to him, the top of her head was barely reaching his ribs. 

The man didn’t stop his grooming as Artemis turned to her, curiosity in her dark eyes. She lowered her head to Cassiopeia’s, sniffing her for a second, then blowing hot hair through her nostrils, lifting her short hair in the air. 

Cassiopeia didn’t stop the small laugh that escaped her mouth, amused by the horse’s behavior. She raised her hand to Artemis’ nose, lightly petting it. The dark mare only pushed in her hand, demanding more. She gladly obliged.

“She’s nice,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah.” Arthur stopped brushing her, tucking the tool away. He scratched Artemis’ neck once more before bending on his knees, putting one the ground, getting to Cassiopeia’s eyes level. “So, kid,” he started. She turned to him, her hand still on the horse. “Ya know my name and hers. What’s yours?”

She stared at him for a long time. His attention was on her, but he was watching his horse, a hand on her cheek, slowly petting her. If she didn’t tell him, he wouldn’t mind. It was enough for her.

“Cassiopeia Reinhold.” Her mother’s last name.

“ _Cassiopeia?_ ” He turned to her, bewildered, sounding both surprised and amused. “That’s some heavy name you have!” He laughed then, the same laugh he had with Artemis but a little louder, and she knew he didn’t really mean it.

“My ma’ chose it,” she added, because it felt important.

“And your pa?”

She shook her head. “Never knew him.” He was just one of the many her mom worked with.

Arthur nodded at that, as if he really got it, and he didn’t ask for more. He only pointed at her old clothes, even redder with blood in the sunlight. She looked at them and only felt relieved. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

Maybe. She wasn’t sure yet. Arthur was nice, nicer than many she knew, but she didn’t completely trust him. If she told him that, she would have to tell him what she did and she didn’t want him to leave her.

But then again, she’d tried to kill him the night before and he was still nice.

“Not yet,” she still replied, turning her gaze to the ground.

“Sure.” She felt his eyes on her, watching her for a moment, before he got up and sighed. “You can’t keep those, though.” Cassiopeia turned to him again, and he was still watching the clothes. “And ya can’t stay with my shirt.” She figured it was his, but wasn’t entirely sure before now. He scratched his beard, clearly thinking, eyes lost into nothing. He then turned to her, watching her up and down, and asked a question she wasn’t expecting.

“Ever wore a dress?”

“ _What?_ ” This man was very strange. And the answer was no.

“Look.” He rummaged into his satchel and took a thin black belt out. Why did he even have it? “If we tie this around ya waist, the shirt’ll look like a dress. Whatcha say ‘bout it?”

“That you’re weird,” she chuckled. Arthur only grunted at that, and she chuckled more. “Yeah, why not. But I’ll tie it myself.” No one was going to tie her with anything.

His only answer was to give her the belt, a smile in his eyes. She grabbed it, hiding a smirk. He was strange _and_ silly.

While she tried to figure out how to tie it comfortably, Arthur started to pack his things and fully extinguish the fire. Artemis, beside Cassiopeia, was slowly eating grass, apparently relaxed. That tying thing was harder than she thought. At the end, she took both ends and did a simple knot, supporting it on her right hips. It still was a shirt, but it looked a little more like her size with this trick.

Arthur was smart.

“Ready?” the man asked her, putting everything he had on Artemis’ saddle. Cassiopeia suddenly got scared. Was he going to leave her?

“For what?” she said, wary.

“We’re heading into town.” He checked everything was there, before turning to her, a hand on his hat. “Ever rode a horse before?”

Relief washed over her all at once, and she heaved a shaking sigh. Arthur seemed to notice, frowning a little, but didn’t say anything. “Yeah,” she finally answered, voice tiny. Never on her own, though. She was too little for that yet. “Why are we going to the town?”

“To buy ya clothes.” He said it like it was obvious. She felt a strange thing grabbing her heart. Since _they_ took her in, she didn’t really have her own clothes. The one her mother gave her had been lost or destroyed, and they didn’t want to buy her anything, except for the knife. They always gave her clothes from dead people.

“Come on.” She lifted her head, surprised to see him already on Artemis. The horse was looking into the distance, ready to go at Arthur’s order. He stretched a hand to her, and she got closer, letting him lift her into the saddle in front of him. His chest on her back, Cassiopeia felt safe again.

“A’right, girl,” he said, his deep voice echoing through her. With that simple sentence, Artemis started to walk into the wood, quickly reaching the sandy road.

Cassiopeia knew Arthur could have made her go faster, but he didn’t and she liked that. She could finally see where she was, and by the look of it, it was far enough from where everything happened. She had run for a long time, after all. She still felt exhausted by it.

In the end, the slow rocking of Artemis made her fall asleep one more time.

***

She drifted in and out of sleep a few times that day, until they finally arrived into the town – she forgot the name of it, but every town in the west of the country had plain and boring names anyway. It was small enough to not overwhelm her, and big enough to have a bank.

“Here we are,” suddenly said Arthur, a smile in his voice. He stopped in front of a small store, lifted Cassiopeia to the ground before getting down himself. She was still barefoot, but didn’t mind the feeling of sand on her feet. When Arthur got into the place, she followed close behind him.

“Welcome,” said the cashier, a young man with long blond hair and shiny brown eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“The kid needs clothes,” answered Arthur, going to the counter, pointing at her. She saw the way the cashier looked at her, suspicion in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. The cowboy grabbed a thick book and pusched it to Cassiopeia. “Look into that and get whatever you want.”

She didn’t dare take it. She only looked into Arthur’s eyes, hers wide. “Are you serious?”

“Damn serious.”

She stared at him for one moment more, before opening the book and looking through the pages. Arthur chuckled, leaving her at it while going through what the place had exposed.

There were two outfits that she liked. They weren’t fancy, had simple shirts in different colors, usual pants, but one had nice small boots, easy for running, and the other had a white panama hat with a dark ribbon around it.

“Can I take both?” she asked, turning to Arthur.

“Sure thing, kid.” He chuckled again. “Choose your colors and go wear one.”

She chose a white shirt and brown pants for the first one, and a red shirt and dark pants for the second. She never felt happier.

The cashier was happy to deliver everything, and led her to the changing room. She had a huge smile when she got in. It faded away when she found herself face to face with a mirror.

The last time she had seen herself, she was six. She had forgotten how green her eyes were, how black, short and disheveled her hair was, how many freckles she had. But most importantly, she had forgotten her scars.

The first one was going through her left eyebrow, cutting it in two by the end of it. It was a long one, starting on her forehead and ending up by her temple. An accident with a marble table was responsible for it.

The second one was pretty small, just on her lips, on the right side of her mouth, looking like fangs. She liked that one, even though it was her own knife which had caused it.

The last one was a huge bite mark on her jaw, to the left, going from her ear to her shin. A dog had bit her hard when she was still on the street. They were both looking for food and it had seen her as an enemy.

She didn’t know how long she spent watching herself, but she didn’t recognize herself.

“Ya okay in there, kid?” Arthur’s voice startled her out of her contemplating state. She turned away from the mirror, clothes still in her hands, and finally started to put them, not answering.

A knock on the door. “Kid.”

“Yes!” Did she sound scared or angry? Maybe both. She heard the sound Arthur made on the other side of the door, a heavy sigh coupled with some coughs, but focused on dressing herself.

When she got out, she was wearing the red shirt and dark pants, along with the hat, still a little too big for her, but happy to have it nonetheless. Arthur looked her up and down again when she gave his belongings back, and smirked at her, shoving the hat deeper on her head. “Suits you.”

“Thanks.” The sigh of herself hadn’t left her yet but – she couldn’t really do anything about it, right? She’ll have to get used to it.

“A’right, off we go.” He paid the cashier, without blinking an eye at the amount he gave, but Cassiopeia noticed and wondered for a second if the man was actually rich or not and if it was his own money or if he had stolen it. 

Who really was Arthur Morgan, anyway?

“How old are you?” she asked when they were out of the shop, suddenly wanting to know more about the man helping her.

Arthur let out a loud short laugh, sounding like a bark, before turning to her with a grin. “What’s your guess?”

She looked at his wrinkles around his eyes again, the frown marks between his eyebrow, the way his hair was starting to gray a little. “Fifty?” He only grunted at that, half laughing, showing her how wrong she was. “Tell me then!”

“Am forty, kid.” He snorted, apparently not believing her guess, shaking his head. “Why?”

She crossed her arms on her chest, half hugging herself. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“Well, then.” He shrugged, sitting on the stairs of the store. “What d’you want to know?”

Cassiopeia studied him, staying up beside him, her eyes going for his satchel. “Where does that money come from?”

“What, ya think I stole it?” _Well, yes._ “Earned it fair and square. Am a hunter. I sell animal skins.” He scratched his beard, looking at the sky. “Also help folks that need helping. Sometimes they give something.”

“That’s it?” Cassiopeia couldn’t believe, there had to be something else, to have that much money.

“No.” Ah, here was the honest answer. He probably hadn’t lied before, but he wasn’t telling all the truth either. “I’m also a bounty hunter, sometimes.”

She turned white at that. He noticed, of course.

“I won’t pry,” Arthur said. It didn’t ease her fear. “But at some point, you’ll have to tell where you’re coming from and what happened to ya.” He tucked his hat over his eyes, getting up. “In the meantime, ya can stay with me. I won’t refuse to help a kid.” He got to Artemis, patting her neck, before turning to her again. “Ya a’right with that, Cass’?”

Cassiopeia blinked. Arched an eyebrow. “‘Cass’?’”

“Yeah.” He scratched his beard, frowning in confusion. “Ya don’t like it?”

She didn’t know how to answer. Her mother always called her by her full name, she supposed it was what mothers usually did. And back there, with _them_ , they didn’t really call her anything, only addressing her with words such as ‘you’, ‘tool’, or other things like that.

No one ever used a nickname with her.

“No,” she finally said, something soft inside of her heart. “I like it.”

He beamed at that. She stayed with him, of course.


	2. To Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's mention of Child Abuse and Cynophobia, please be careful and don't hurt yourself with this chapter.

In the first weeks they spent together wandering through the country, Cassiopeia noticed a few things about Arthur. The first one was that he was kind of sick. He would cough, sometimes out of nowhere, but more often after having to run after an animal or riding Artemis for a long time. He seemed used to it, having to take a few deep breaths to ease his lungs, massaging his chest.

“Are you alright?” she asked him one time, a little worried about him.

“Yeah,” he simply answered, but it didn’t feel enough.

“Are you sick?”

Arthur had looked up at her, clearly conflicted about answering this question. His eyes drifted to the side, and he seemed to get lost into his memories for some seconds, before finally replying. “I was.” There was a story behind this, she knew it, but didn’t ask for more.

The second thing was that Arthur, despite being very nice to her, could actually be  _ an asshole _ . He had little patience for stupid people staying in his way, would aim his gun at everyone he thought was suspicious, and had very colorful words to insults people.

One time, he even pointed his revolver to a blind man asking for charity. She was about to ask him  _ what was wrong with him, really _ , but the man had jumped to his feet, scared to death, and she was proved once again that Arthur was smart.

“Don’t pretend to be somethin’ you’re not,” had said Arthur, holstering his revolver, voice cold. “Do somethin’ with your life, ‘stead of moping like the dipshit you are.” Cassiopeia was tempted to laugh, but it wasn’t really funny, was it?

“Fuck you!” The man’s face was red with anger. He took a rock on the floor and threw it at them, missing Cassiopeia’s face by an inch, hitting the edge of her white hat instead. She felt Arthur going really tensed on her back.

“Ya almost hit the kid, you bastard.” She wondered if Arthur would kill him just for that and hoped he wouldn’t. “You better run right now, or I get down and punch the shit outta you.”

Instead of red, the man turned very pale. He didn’t move at first, Arthur’s hard gaze still on him, but all at once he turned away and started to run on the open field, putting as much distance as he could between them.

“You a’right there, Cass’?” he asked her after the guy disappeared behind a hill.

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “You’re kinda scary.”

“I hope so!” He clicked his tongue, Artemis starting to move again. “Better be scary in this crazy country.” She couldn’t argue with that.

The third thing she noticed, and that was by far the most interesting one, was that Arthur was looking for someone. Every time they stopped in a town, being small or big, he would ask about a guy called John something. She didn’t really catch his last name, but she doubted she would know him anyway. Every time, they would leave the place with nothing to find him.

“Who’s John?” she asked the third time it happened.

They were around the fire camp, getting warmed by the flame, each on their own mattress – Arthur had bought her one when she was choosing her clothes. He was writing in this journal of his. Cassiopeia was always very curious to find what was in it, but her attention was still on Arthur’s face. He sighed at her question, brushing a hand on his face, before closing the book.

“John Marston,” he answered, eyes in the fire. “He’s my brother.”

“You have a  _ brother _ ?” Cassiopeia didn’t know why, but she had imagined him being a loner, no family or anything. That was a surprise.

He let out a short laugh, half happy. “Kinda.” What a strange answer.

“Where is he?”

“That’s the thing, Cass’. I don’t know.” Arthur sighed again, and it felt heavier this time. Cassiopeia scouted to him, sitting beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. He smiled at that, and even though it wasn’t exactly happy, it was better than she had hoped for. He patted her back, letting the hand rest between her shoulder blades. “Don’t worry ‘bout, kid. It’s an old story.”

“’Kay.” Maybe he would tell her one day, but not tonight. Just as she would tell him hers one day. They’d both had to wait.

Of course, if she noticed things about Arthur, he also noticed things about her.

Since she was little, - not that she was very old in the first place - Cassiopeia always had a thing for birds. She loved watching the sky, and spotting big and small birds, wondering what species they were. One night, when she couldn’t sleep, an owl had landed on a tree near them, and Cassiopeia would have burst with joy if it wouldn’t have scared the bird away.

She had watched it for a long time in the light of the fire, noting every color, how its head would turn around, how orange its eyes were. Then it hooted quietly and flew away in the night.

“ _ Awesome _ ,” she had whispered.

“You like birds, don’t’chu?” Arthur’s voice had startled her. She didn’t know he was awake.

“Yeah,” she had answered, turning to him. He was watching the night sky, eyes in the stars. “I like the big ones.”

He had laughed, with this laugh she liked, deep and short, rumbling like thunder. “Ever wanted to see them closer?”

She frowned at that. “How? In a zoo? They can’t fly in those.” Not really, and they were meant to be in the sky anyway, not in cages.

“No, with binoculars.” He turned to her, grinning, before getting up from his mattress. He rummaged into his satchel and got out his dark, heavy binoculars, before giving them to her.

She raised on her bed, not believing it. “They’re yours,” she argued, not comfortable with being given something this precious.

Arthur only shrugged, and put them beside her bed, laying on his own again. Cassiopeia took them in the end.

Another thing he noticed was that she had very sharp eyes. After some time getting used to each other, Arthur took her into a hunting trip, tracking down a herd of deer. He taught her what she was supposed to look for, how to recognize the animal and how to know where they were going depending on the seasons. Summer was behind them, they were in the middle of October, but the air was still warm, and Arthur knew the deers would go near water.

By the end of the day, they finally reached the herd. She stayed beside as he was looking at them from under cover, analyzing. Cassiopeia only huffed, wondering what was taking him so much to choose one.

“What?” he whispered, turning to her with a frown.

“Kill this one,” she pointed at a female one, peacefully drinking from the river. She lifted her head, sniffing the wind, but didn’t seem to find any danger because she started to drink again.

Arthur seemed confused, which almost made her laugh if it wouldn’t have given them away. “Why?”

“She’s young and hurt,” Cassiopeia explained. She could still see the white marks on her fur, she was barely an adult, and one of her back legs was a little bit lifted from the ground, the deer putting all of her weight on the other. If they didn’t kill her, wolves would. She told him.

Arthur squinted at the deer, apparently not seeing anything, before turning to Cassiopeia again. “You sure?”

She nodded with a smile. “Yes.”

“How d’you even see that?” He sounded baffled, but she could only shrug. She always spotted people’s weaknesses, and it was no different with animals.

The third thing Arthur discovered happened in a frightening way.

They were into yet another small town, Cassiopeia still on Artemis, petting and brushing her hair, while Arthur was in the saloon, asking for John. The place was nice enough, close to a forest, and with not many people. Cassiopeia was feeling comfortable enough to not focus on her surroundings.

At some point, she got bored, and got down of Artemis – being very careful, with how tall the horse was. Arthur didn’t like to see her wandering the streets of unknown places, with reasons, she couldn’t know what was in every corner of a town, so she only took a few steps around the main road, watching people passing by and living their own life. Two kids were quietly playing next to a shop, drawing in the dirt with sticks, a man was grooming his horse, an old veteran was asking for money. They’d give him some when they passed by him, when they arrived.

Then she heard the barks of a dog, making her jump three feet in the air.

She turned around and spotted the animal trotting toward her, tail wagging from left to right, tongue hanging, saliva dripping from sharp fangs. The beast was  _ enormous _ .

She didn’t realize she was retreating from it until her back hit the wooden wall of the saloon. And the dog was still coming to her.

When it was just a few feet away from her, Cassiopeia’s mind went blank. She closed her eyes and  _ screamed _ .

It was a high pitched scream, one that instilled fear in the heart and turned blood to ice. It became the only thing she heard. No bark, no dog, not the door of the saloon opening up in a hurry, not Artemis’ neigh, nothing but that terrifying sound.

Then heavy hands fell on her shoulders, shaking her lightly, and she stopped, finally hearing what was around her. “What’s happening?” said a woman on the street. “Crazy kid,” grunted someone else in a disgusted voice. “Are they alright?” asked a kid to their parents.

“You’re okay, Cass’” finally came Arthur’s voice, deep and low, soothing, comforting. “It’s a’right, you’re okay, kid, everything’s fine.”

She slowly opened her eyes, realizing she was crying, and looked into Arthur’s, seeing worry and relief at the same time. Nothing happened to her, not really, she was safe and unhurt. She was okay.

She launched herself into his arms, burying her face on his shoulder, locking her arms around his neck, not ready to talk, to explain, and he let her, hugging her tight, carrying her thin frame while getting up, rocking her.

They left the town like that, Arthur guiding Artemis by the reins, leading them near the passing river, stopping at a nice spot of green grass.

“What happened, kid?” he finally asked, sitting on a rock, supporting her on his legs. Cassiopeia’s arms were still around him.

“Am scared of dogs,” she explained, voice muffled. She finally let go, moving away from him so she could see his face. She felt exhausted.

“How so?” Arthur’s voice was gentle and deep, as always, but she still didn’t feel ready to talk about it. Instead, she just pointed at the bite mark on her jaw. “Ah,” he grunted. “Wondered how you got it. Must’ve been scary.” She nodded. She had fought tooth and nail against this dog over food. She was six, at the time, but she still remembered it clearly. It had bit her hard, leaving this ugly scar. She wouldn’t let a dog do that to her ever again.

“A’right.” Arthur adjusted his hat then hers, before lifting her, putting her back on her feet. “I think that’s enough emotions for one day.” He let out a long sigh, heavy with many things Cassiopeia couldn’t pinpoint. “You really scared me back there, kid,” he added as he shoved the hat deeper onto her head.

She knew he said it as a joke, something playful, but she couldn’t help it. “Sorry,” she said, looking at the ground rather than Arthur.

“S’okay to be scared, Cass’. I’d rather hear you scream for help than finding you dead.” Cassiopeia looked up at him, finding him looking out distantly, lost in his mind. There was something sad in his eyes, and she wondered if it was her fault or not. But when he turned to her again, he smiled, looking a little bit happier. She smiled too.

They noticed things about each other, and just like that, they got a little bit closer.

***

“I’m so boooored.”

Arthur had gone hunting, leaving Cassiopeia in the camp with Artemis. The mare was lazily eating hay Arthur had brought her, not paying attention to the girl, and Cassiopeia was  _ bored. _

It’d been  _ hours _ , and there was just nothing to do anymore. She had lighted the fire, laid their sleeping bags on the floor, groomed Artemis, took water from the river nearby, and at the end she had started to carve wood with her knife. She wasn’t exactly doing a great job at it, but it was kind of fun. She still got bored by it in the end, finding nothing to do, except looking at the empty sky. Very,  _ very _ empty sky. She didn’t like camping in an open field, there weren't enough birds out there, and it was much colder, with the start of November. There was less cold wind in the forests, even if Arthur had bought her a pretty and thick black coat for the winter to protect her.

In the end, Cassiopeia got up, going to see Artemis. The black mare welcomed her with a small snore as she started to pet her while she ate. “Are you bored too, Artemis?” she asked with a smile, trying to keep herself busy. “Why didn’t Arthur take me? I mean, moose can’t be  _ that _ dangerous.” She pouted, brushing her face on Artemis’ fur, half hugging her with closed eyes. It felt nice, just staying there, though. The mare's breaths and heartbeats were steady, taking her mind away. When she slowly opened her eyes again, they locked on something on the ground, something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Arthur’s satchel.

Cassiopeia frowned. Arthur always had it with him, never leaving it behind; he stored important things in it, she knew that. She had seen an old golden ring, a photograph of wolves, an Irish coin with no value, one pretty eagle feather and many other things like that.

There was also his journal.

She knew she shouldn’t.

She did it anyway.

She first opened it on the last pages. Arthur had a nice handwriting, full of curls and pretty letters but she didn’t understand anything, not knowing how to read. Her mother had started to teach her how, but she died before she could finish that task, and  _ they _ never bothered to do so back there, it wasn’t useful for what she was doing.

But she wasn’t interested in what was written. No, she was looking for the drawing.

Arthur was good at that. It was mostly sketches, places and people with barely enough details to recognize them. She remembered this woman he helped on the road, bringing back her horse, which had got scared by wolves, or that man playing the banjo in the street. There was the main road of this town where they lastly stopped, still coming empty handed about John. She doubted they would ever find him. Maybe he was even dead. She wasn’t going to tell Arthur that, of course.

Cassiopeia turned the pages backward, going into the past. She found a picture of herself, doing something by their fire, looking very focused. It had been shortly after they met, if she remembered right, maybe just a few days later. She turned more page, wanting to know what he could have seen before her.

There was a drawing of an old church, half crumble, surrounded by a forest. Animals and flowers he had found along the way. People she never saw. There was a point in the journal when he had only written, sometimes the letters feeling angry. 

Some sketches were more precise, made with time and care, but she felt he had made them by memory only. A woman with a mole under her right eyes, looking into the distance, a soft smile on her lips. A man with scars on his face, frowning, smirking, arms crossed on his chest. A boy fishing by a river, not really enjoying it.

And then, she saw him.

The man seemed peaceful, in the drawing, and yet kind of threatening. His arms were crossed, his muscles obvious, even under his shirt, and though he wasn’t smiling, there was something like happiness on his face. He had long dark hair, tied into a ponytail, some strip blew by the wind. Light scars were scattered across his face, white marks on his dark skin, and his dark eyes were half closed, looking at something on the ground. He had a necklace on his chest, and a bow on his back, reminding Cassiopeia of Arthur’s. There was something written at the bottom of it, but she only managed to pinpoint the letters C and S.

Then she heard a loud crack behind her and she jumped around.

She found herself face to face with Arthur. He had a heavy skin on his shoulder and looked exhausted, but his eyes were on her.

She quickly closed the journal, but it was too late. He had seen her. And with the way his whole face darkened with anger, she knew she had destroyed every inch of trust he had put into her. Not even killing made her feel this guilty.

Arthur let the skin fall to the ground and rushed to her. Cassiopeia took one step backward, scared of what he might do, but he only snatched the book out of her hands. She put her back on Artemis’ back leg, almost stumbling on her, trying to look tiny.

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t,” he interrupted her, his voice sounding like a growl, a finger pointed at her. “Ever. Touch that again. What did you read?” He flipped the pages, checking if she hadn’t destroyed anything.

“Nothing.” Would he really believe her? “I don’t know how.”

He looked up at her, eyes still dark, and put the journal away, back in the satchel. He also looked into the bag, probably thinking things would be missing.

“I’m sorry,” Cassiopeia said, still watching him. “I just- I know-” She sighed, not finding the words. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Arthur.” She really meant it, but doubted it would reach him. He had every right to be angry at her.

Arthur ignored her. He didn’t look at her, didn’t talk to her for a long time, and it felt like hours. He busied himself with simple tasks, taking care of the moose’s skin, cooking meat over the fire, preparing medication for the both of them and Artemis. Cassiopeia stayed against her leg, not daring to move. She wondered if he would leave her there in the morning.

When the night came in, he finally looked up at her. He was still angry, she could tell by the way he was frowning, but not as much as before. It didn’t make her feel better.

“Com’here,” he said after a long time of staring, shifting on his bed to leave a place beside him. She gulped, but complied. She sat next to him, putting enough space between them to not touch him, staring into the fire.

Arthur put a log into it, reviving the flames. “You can’t look into my journal.”

“I know.”

“What’s inside’s personal. You understand that, Cass’?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Cassiopeia looked up at him and he was watching her, still frowning, but there was something calm in his eyes. She turned back to the fire.

“I,” she started, then stopped, and she was tempted to lie, really. She thought about what to say, and decided to tell the truth. “It was there. I was bored. I just thought,” she shrugged, hugging her knee to her chest. “I wanted to see what was inside. Was curious.” She shrugged again, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. Won’t do it again.”

She felt his eyes on her, was tempted to return his gaze, but settled against it, not wanting to see how hurt he was. He would never trust her again after that, she knew it.

But he put a hand on her hair, ruffling it, before lightly shoving her aside. “I know you won’t.” And there was a smile in his voice.

She turned to him, half relieved, half confused, not believing him. “So, you’re… You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m  _ definitely _ mad. But.” He shrugged. “You’re a kid. Ya make mistakes. You learn from them.” He nodded at himself, scratching his beard, then turned to her, blue meeting green. “Right?” He sounded unsure for a second.

Cassiopeia only nodded at that, because, yes, she won’t make that mistake twice. She didn’t want Arthur to look at her like that again, full of anger and pain. She’d hurt him, she knew that. She didn’t want to.

The silence felt comfortable, at last. The fire was cracking, coyotes howling in the dark. Everything felt fine.

She opened her mouth, about to say something, before closing it. Maybe it was a bad idea. But Arthur noticed.

“Speak up, kid.”

Why must he always be so perceptive? It was infuriating, sometimes. “I have questions. About the drawing.” Arthur only sighed once more. But he asked for it, though.

“What questions?”

Was he really allowing her inside his head? “I saw people,” she started, carefully watching him. “In the beginning. It looks like you took more care in them.” She stopped, weighting her next words. “Who are they?”

Arthur’s eyes stayed fixed on the fire for a few seconds, and she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he got his journal out, looking at the said drawings, seeming to know what she was talking about, and showed them to her.

“Those ones?”

It was the man with scars and the boy. He turned a page and there was the woman with the mole. Cassiopeia nodded, lifting her eyes to him.

He pointed at the woman. “Her name’s Mary. We were close, at a time.” He huffed, not a happy sound. “T’was years ago.” He got back on the pages with the boy and the man, something nostalgic appearing on his face, and pointed at the scarred one. “This one’s John.”

“That’s John?” She wasn’t imagining him like that. She didn’t really imagine him, to be honest, his face was kind of a blur to her. “You don’t look alike.”

“We’re not  _ real _ brothers,” he chuckled. “We sort of... grew up together.”

“And the boy?”

“That’s John’s son, Jack.”

“He’s tiny.” And cute.

He chuckled again, sounding a little bit sad. “He’s probably not so tiny anymore, now. He must be…” He counted on his fingers. “Nine, by now. Just like you.”

“He must be with John, right?”

“I sure hope so, or I’ll beat him when I find him.”

Cassiopeia nodded, trying to understand. For how long had he been looking for John? Was it months? Years? She wondered if he ever thought of giving up. Probably not.

“What about the last one?” Arthur looked at her with a confused frown. “The man with the long hair and the necklace.”

“…Oh.” This time, sadness passed on his features, but it quickly disappeared. He turned the pages, founding the drawing easily, as if it was something he did often. “That’s Charles.” He said the name in a soft voice, not really sounding like himself.

“He seems nice.”

“He was. The nicest of us all.” He stared at it for a long moment, before abruptly shutting the book. He cleared his throat, putting the journal away.

She felt a little bad, seeing him like that. It looked like she had raised bad memories to him. She hugged her knees tighter, trying to erase the guilt eating her.

“A’right,” said Arthur after another long silence, clearing his throat again. “Told you some secrets. Share one of yours now.”

“What?” She wasn’t expecting that.

“T’s only fair, right?” He was smirking, the bastard.

The lie came easily. “But I don’t have any secret.”

Arthur scoffed “You’re a whole secret jus’ by yourself, Cass’.”

She grunted at him and his twisted way of fairness. Cassiopeia had secrets, of course, and so many, but couldn’t he leave her be? Which one could she tell, anyway? Which one was the safest? She watched Arthur rummaging through the fire with a stick, his back half to her. He still trusted her. Could she give this trust back? Could she  _ really _ trust him?

Maybe it was time to finally tell him everything.

She took a deep breath. “Ever heard of the Killing Sisters?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yeah.” He didn’t turn to her. “Saw their bounty, a few months back. Anna and Helen something.” He coughed a little in his elbow, probably because of the fire smoke. “Killed many people, and no one knows why. Dangerous folks, those.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. Took another deep breath. “I killed them.”

Arthur froze, his stick still into the fire. Cassiopeia stared into the flame, avoiding his gaze when he turned to her. “ _ Excuse me? _ ”

She felt like the fire was staring back at her. “The blood,” she explained. “It was theirs. They-” She stopped, a shiver going down her skin as she remembered their faces and the sound of the knife going through their chests. “When I- When I was six, they took me from the streets. Taught me how to use a knife. They-” She closed her eyes, unable to stop the words now that she had started. “They made me do things, made me killed people I didn’t know, many people and- and  _ I hated it _ , I hated them, they were mean and made fun of me when I cut myself, they barely gave me food, and one night they weren’t careful enough and I killed them, and there was  _ so much blood- _ ”

Arthur’s arms were around her before she could realize it, and she tried to escape at first, scared by him, by herself, by the tears leaking from her eyes. But he squeezed her on his chest, rubbing her back with one hand and the other cradling through her short hair, trying to soothe the fear out of her, to disperse the hard memories. She grabbed his shirt then, crying on his chest.

“It’s a’right Cass’, you’re okay, ya hear me? You’re safe, everything okay, you’re okay, nothing is going to happen to you-” He kept saying quiet words, but she only half heard him, lost into her own head. She was seeing faces and faces of people she’d hurt, people she didn’t even know she remembered. Would she ever be free of them? Did she _ deserve  _ to be free of them?

When she finally started to hear Arthur, he was saying strange things.

“…always been a little bit of a bastard, this dickhead, but he grew up on me, ya know? Was angry when he left, for a whole year, the asshole, but I shouldn’t have made him feel guilty, he was just scared, becomin’ a father do that, sometimes, and he did right by Abigail in the end, by Jack, because he cared…”

The words were soft, and she knew he was mostly talking to himself at this moment. Her crying slowly stopped, listening to Arthur’s voice, reconnecting with reality bit by bit. All of this was behind her. She had Arthur.

Right?

“Are you going to turn me in?” she asked suddenly, feeling her heart stutter with fear. He was a bounty hunter, after all. Maybe he would. He probably should.

He moved her away from his chest, looking at her as if she was crazy. “No!” He huffed, completely baffled. “’Course not!”

“But I-” She felt a tear going down her cheek. “I did  _ bad things _ .”

“You was  _ forced _ to do it by those- those crazy women! They- no one,  _ no kid _ , should be punished for someone else’s faults. You- What they did to you, t’was  _ wrong _ , ya hear me?” He looked very angry for a second. “Damn bitches, wish I could’ve killed them myself.”

She had a hard time believing him. “You won’t leave me, then?” she still questioned.

His eyes locked with hers, and they were kind, oh so kind. “Never.”

Her heart skipped a beat as relief washed through her, leaving her shaking. She hugged him again, eyes closed and cheek on his chest as he started to rock her. “ _ Thank you _ ,” she whispered, voice tight. 

Arthur chuckled sadly, the sound rumbling through his chest and through her. “Don’t thank me yet. Ain’t exactly a good fella.”

Cassiopeia only shrugged, exhaustion on her shoulders. “Ain’t either.”

“You’re  _ fucking nine _ Cass’.”

A comfortable silence fell on them, hugging them with the sound of the night, animals, birds, Artemis’ breath.

“I’ll teach you how to read.” It felt like a promise.

“Okay.” It felt like hope.


	3. To Grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot isn't going anywhere, but, hear me out  
> I just want Arthur to be happy with a kid

Cassiopeia was the first one up this morning. Actually, she didn’t exactly sleep that night. Couldn’t.  _ She was too goddamn excited _ .

The sun hadn’t exactly rose, it was still pretty early, since they were in the middle of August - the 18th - but she could still see Arthur’s snoring silhouette, laying on his belly, face flat on his pillow. How he managed to sleep like that was a complete mystery to Cassiopeia.

She wondered if she should wake him up right now or let him sleep more, before deciding on the latter. This man never got enough sleep anyway, whether because of nightmares, just being unable to sleep, or guarding their camp in the most dangerous areas. She’d often try to do it instead of him – she knew how to use a rifle, now, he had taught her and even given her one – but he never let her, arguing she was too young and needed good sleep to grow up. Where he got that idea, she didn’t know.

While Cassiopeia let him dream more, she silently took care of the camp. First of all, she restarted the fire, blowing on the few shining embers while adding some logs in it. She nodded to herself once the wood started to crack under the red flames, pleased with her work. Next, she took water from the lake, being careful to not take any little fish or seaweed in the kettle. She put it over the campfire, for it to slowly boil, so she could make tea for herself and coffee for Arthur. A good day can’t start without a good breakfast, he always told her.

While leaving the water to warm up, Cassiopeia went to Artemis. The mare had drifted a bit away from them, seeking better grass to eat, and Cassiopeia found her under a big oak, eating the leaves of a bush. She welcomed the girl with a pleased huff, meeting her half away, brushing her lips in her hair. Cassiopeia petted the top of her head, just between her ears. “How are you, Artemis?” she softly said, gaining a low nicker. “Should we groom you? Get rid of the knots in your hair? Yeah, we should!” She scratched her a little more, before getting the brush out and starting to take care of her. Cassiopeia was taller now, able to reach Artemis’ fur even as its tallest, and she took all advantage of that to fully groom her. It didn’t even feel like a chore to her, she  _ loved _ taking care of the mare.

Once that was done, she led Artemis back close to the camp, tying her to a tree. The water wasn’t boiling yet, but a nice smoke was going up from the kettle, and the sun was now in the sky.

Cassiopeia turned to Arthur, still sleeping. She smirked; it was time to finally wake him up.

She kneeled down next to him, and patted his shoulder. “Arthur.” He grunted, and made a move to hide under the covers. What a child! “Arthur, wake up.” He grunted again then snored. She started to shake him. “Arthur. Arthur.  _ Arthur. _ ”

“ _ T’s too early for this, Cass’ _ .” She barely made the words out, with how muffled they were by the pillow.

“It’s  _ not _ .”

He finally turned his scrunch up face to her, eyes squinting against the sunlight. She smiled widely. “Come on, Arthur!”

“What’re you doin’ up?” He raised up to his knees, rubbing at his face to try to wipe sleep out of him, scratching at his bare cheeks. One day, he had come back to Cassiopeia with his beard neatly shaved, and he had kept it that way since she told him he looked much younger.

She got up. “The water’s hot. Want coffee?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious. “… Sure.”

“Great!” Her smile widened and she hopped to their supplies, getting everything ready. Arthur watched her, looking unsure, before finally standing on his bed. He stretched his arms above his head, looking a little bit like a cat, before going to the lake to do his cleaning routine. Cassiopeia looked at him disappear behind the trees, then focused on her task.

When he came back, looking more awake, their drinks were ready, and Cassiopeia even had gathered berries to eat. She was still watching him with a smile, and Arthur scrutinized her a long moment before finally sitting down beside the fire, taking his cup. “What’s gotten into ya, kid?” He sipped at his very hot coffee, and seemed to like it.

“Today is an important day,” she started to explain.

He arched an eyebrow. “Is it, now?”

“Yes.” She felt ready to explode. He took another sip. “Because today, I’m  _ ten _ .”

Arthur choked, spitting half of his coffee into the fire, violently coughing into his elbow. Cassiopeia’s smile fell, suddenly worried, starting to get up to help without knowing how, but Arthur raised a hand, stopping her. He coughed a little more before taking a few deep breathes. “Am fine,” he grunted, voice hoarse.

“Sorry,” she apologized.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal, clearing his throat. “So,” he then started, serving himself a new cup of coffee – the first one being on the ground. “Today’s your birthday?”

She looked him up and down, trying to know if he really was fine, before smiling once more. “Yeah.” She blushed, suddenly feeling very silly.

“Why didn’t ya tell me earlier?” Arthur was smiling over his mug, but there was confusion in his eyes.

She could only mirror it back, frowning. “What for?”

“Well, I don’t know kid, maybe so I’d get you a  _ gift _ .”

She gasped, scandalized. “What? No! I don’t want a gift!” Arthur was giving her thing all the time and she wouldn’t ask anything from him, was he crazy?

He frowned at her with a smirk, then shook his head with a low chuckle, before pointing at their breakfast. “Then why did ya put up all of this?”

She frowned back, not understanding what he was implying. “Well,” she shrugged. “I just thought we could celebrate a little. I mean, I’m  _ ten _ .” Cassiopeia beamed. “I’m all grown up now!”

“Grown up!” He burst into a loud laugh, startling her, then lightly shoved her head away, making fun of her. “Sure thing, Cass’!” And he just laughed more.

“Hey!” She chuckled with him, pushing his hand away. Such a stupid man he was! “I’m sure I can ride Artemis all alone now!”

Arthur looked at her, still giggling, then at Artemis, who was watching them looking very confused. “Doubt it.”

That sounded like a challenge. “ _ Watch me. _ ”

She put her empty cup of tea on the ground, rushed to Artemis and easily climbed on her. Cassiopeia grinned at Arthur. She clicked her tongue, and the mare started to move around the camp, a little bit confused.

His eyes were wide and he looked like he couldn’t believe it. “Told you!” She patted Artemis’ neck, and the mare just shook her head, as if she was tired by their behavior.

“When did you get that tall?” He still seemed completely baffled.

She got down of the horse, getting back to the fire, grinning. “Last week.”

“ _ Ha ha _ , real funny,” he snorted, before stopping himself, as if he had said something terrible. He put a hand over his eyes, grumbling under his breath, “Damnit, I sounded just like  _ Micah. _ ”

“Who’s Micah?” It was the first time she’d heard of this one. He’d told her about John, of course, but also Dutch, Hosea and how he had meet them, though he never elaborated much about the life he lived with them. She only knew he was an outlaw once.

“A piece of shit, that what he is.” Oh, well, apparently Arthur hated him. “Anyway.” He rubbed at his face, looking back at Cassiopeia, who was watching him with her eyebrow raised. His eyes darted from her, to Artemis and back at her, and she really didn’t like his smirk. “A’right, let’s pack up,” he said, getting up and throwing his coffee away.

What? “Already? We’ve barely eaten and you didn’t even hunt anything.”

“I’ll hunt later, I’ve got somethin’ to do into town.” Really? They got out of this one just yesterday, what could he actually want to do? “Com’on, Cass’!” He agitated his hands at her when she stayed standing still, doing nothing.

Cassiopeia sighed, not understanding him, but finally started to move, gathering her things, extinguishing the fire, emptying the kettle from its water. When everything was settled and put onto Artemis’ saddle, they started to head into town, Cassiopeia sitting behind Arthur.

They got here pretty quickly. She expected Arthur to go to the store, but he instead headed to the stable. “Does Artemis need anything?” she asked when they got down of the mare, Arthur tying her reins to a pole.

He completely ignored her, that bastard, going right inside, being welcomed by the owner. Cassiopeia followed, completely lost. “Arthur, what are we doing here?”

“Somethin’ we should’ve done way sooner.” He patted her shoulder, as if he really had answered her question. She just stared at him, confused but unimpressed. Avoiding questions could really be his speciality sometimes. “You see those horses?”

She looked around, spotting three different horses; a white and grey piebald, peacefully eating, a chestnut one, looking at them, and a palomino, seeming agitated “Yes?” Hard to not see them.

“You pick one.”

She must have misheard. “What?”

He patted her shoulder again, softly smiling at her. “Ya’re right, you’re all  _ grown up _ now.” He chuckled at his own word, and she felt ready to hit him. “Artemis can’t carry us both anymore, so it’s time for ya to get your own horse.”

“But, it- it’s expensive…” she whispered, not really knowing how to feel. It was so much more than clothes, candies or a rifle.

“I worry about that, and ya worry about picking your horse,” Arthur stated, as if that was easy. He pushed her forward, to the stables, before getting back to the gates, leaning on it and getting his journal out.

Cassiopeia studied him a little, suddenly nervous, before turning back to the horses. She twisted her hands, fidgeting a little, before finally approaching them.

The piebald one was a mare, and the file attached to her door said she was thirteen years old apparently. She lifted her head when Cassiopeia got close, curious, and immediately pressed her nose against her palm when she presented her hand. She seemed to be a sweet horse, and confident too. Maybe a little too much, because she quickly reached for Cassiopeia’s chest, searching for sweets, scaring her away. She was technically used to that behavior with Artemis, with Arthur spoiling her all the time, but the mare was gentler than this one. Cassiopeia quickly retreated from her, going to the chestnut one.

This one was a stallion, his fur looking almost like copper under the sunlight. He was ten years old, just like her, but she knew horses aged differently than humans, probably meaning he was in his adulthood, or something like that. When she got to him, he quickly stepped away from her, going at the back of his stable, ears backward. Cassiopeia stopped to not frighten him, but he only stomped on his hooves, clearly uncomfortable, then turned away from her, as if ready to kick her. Well, clearly, she wasn’t going to choose him.

Finally, Cassiopeia reached the palomino one, also a stallion, of six years old, barely an adult. He seemed to watch her very carefully when she got closer, studying her as much as she was studying him. He smelled the air when she leaned on his door, coming nearer before snorting and shying a little bit away, then getting closer again. Cassiopeia carefully extended a hand to him, a smile on her lips. The stallion looked at it, conflicted. Then, after a few seconds, he finally came to her, brushing her fingers with his lips.

He was adorable. “Hey, boy,” she softly whispered, scratching his muzzle. He breathed hot air on her hand, and she fell in love.

Arthur let out a whistle when she got out of the stable with the stallion at her heels, all saddled up. “Look what we got here.”

“Will you stop mocking me, old man?” she retorted, a smile on her lips.

“You’ll have to get used to it, it’s part of bein’  _ grown up _ .”

Cassiopeia grunted, so much regretting that conversation. “Oh my God, Arthur, stop!”

He only ruffled her short hair, making them look more disheveled than it already was. “So, what’s his name?”

She looked up at the stallion, petting his neck. “Ain’t sure yet. I must think about it.” She had a few ideas, but none seemed to really fit. With his golden fur, she had thought of Achilles, but the horse was too sweet, unlike the warrior; or Sunlight, but that sounded so  _ cliché _ she immediately rejected it. But she didn’t worry. Cassiopeia will find what suited him best.

Arthur showed the back of his hand to him, and the stallion must have smelled something on it because he started to search it. The man chuckled, and immediately started to look for sweets.

Cassiopeia gasped. “No!” She hit his hand away, gaining an offended look from Arthur. “You’re not allowed to spoil him.”

His eyebrows got very high on his forehead, almost making her laugh. “Why not?”

“Because he’s mine,” she proudly declared, hands on her hips.

Arthur seemed to think about it for a short moment, before smirking. “Sure thing, kid.” He lightly patted the stallion neck, before mounting up on Artemis. The mare was eyeing the stallion suspiciously, but Cassiopeia was sure they would get along soon enough.

When she mounted up her own horse – he wasn’t as tall as Artemis, so it felt very easy – she felt Arthur’s hand on her shoulder. She turned to him, and there was something very soft on his face, something she wasn’t used to and she didn’t really know how to take it.

He squeezed her shoulder. “Happy birthday, Cass’.”

Her heart stuttered, and something warm spread in her guts as she felt a smile tugging at her lips and tears wetting her eyes. She blinked a few times, making them disappear. “Thanks.”

He squeezed once more before finally letting go and urging Artemis forward. Cassiopeia clicked her tongue, and the stallion started to follow, his pace steady. It was the best birthday she had in years.


	4. To Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for Blood and Violence

It was raining when Cassiopeia woke up that morning. She grunted as drops of water hit her forehead, trying to hide under her covers and doing a poor job at it. They really needed to buy a tent.

She got out of her bedroll that was slowly being soaked, rolled it to try to protect it, putting it on Prince’s saddle. The stallion turned his head to her, earning a few scratches on his wet fur, and she pressed herself on him, trying to get warmer. He made a low, rumbling noise, an attempt to comfort her.

She hoped that, wherever Arthur and Artemis were, they weren’tt under this thickening rain.

He had gone bounty hunting the day before, leaving her alone to stay to wait for him, never wanting her around in this kind of job. She didn’t really want to be around either, so that was fine by her, and it wasn’t the first time he had left her to take care of the camp. But right now, the tree she was under didn’t grant much protection from the cold water. She shivered, putting her black coat on her shoulders, weighing her options.

On one hand, she could stay here, patiently waiting for the rain to pass. On the other, she could leave a note for Arthur and try to find a better spot to camp.

Cassiopeia grunted, hating both. The first one implied that she was going to stay cold under that stupid tree, maybe getting sick with October’s wind, and Prince would be as much as uncomfortable as her. The second one meant leaving the place Arthur had last seen her and getting him worried and that was probably asking for a scold. Damn it.

In the end, she thought that getting scolded by Arthur was less threatening than getting sick. She packed her last few things still on the ground, took a sheet of paper out of her satchel and slowly wrote what she wanted to tell.

_ To much rain. Go somwere else cloze. Sory. Cass. _

Her handwriting was terrible, and she probably got most of the words wrong, but it’ll have to do. She sighed, sticking the note on the tree with a nail, under a branch so it’ll get less wet, and got on Prince’s back. The stallion nodded his big head, and she urged him forward with a whistle, right into the rain, hoping she’ll find a better shelter than this one.

The more time passed and the more the rain was slowly becoming a storm, thunder raging closer and closer and wind blowing in her ears. Cassiopeia looked up at the darkening clouds, worried that a lightning would strike her, and spurred Prince to make him go faster. They needed to find a place to hide and fast.

At some point, she spotted light over the trees, and even though she knew it was a bad idea to go to strangers, she didn’t see any other solutions to get out of this damn storm. Getting closer, Cassiopeia realized it was a small house surrounded by a garden and flowers, more welcoming than the shack she had imagined. Getting down of the stallion, she led him under a canopy to protect him from the water, tying him to a pole attached to it. She petted her neck with long strokes, reassuring him with kind words, before going to the house’s door. As she knocked, she grabbed the hilt of her knife, ready to put up a fight in case there were dangerous people inside.

Despite the wind, Cassiopeia heard shuffling noises behind the door, a chair getting moved, a voice muffled by the wooden walls, and finally someone opened. She was greeted by the sight of an old woman, maybe in her fifties or sixties. Her skin was dark, bringing out her long white hair, tied into a high bun. She had amber eyes, looking sharp despite her ages, and there was suspicion in them when she looked Cassiopeia up and down, analyzing her. By the way she was holding her revolver, she wasn’t expecting someone nice either.

“I’m sorry to--” Cassiopeia stumbled on her own words, interrupted by a shiver, “To disturb you. I’ve been caught in the storm. I’m just looking for a shelter.”

The woman was still looking at her, frowning, her eyes lingering on the knife to her side. Cassiopeia let go of its hilt. “Come in,” she finally said, moving away from the entrance.

Cassiopeia gladly obliged. She was overwhelmed by the warmth at first, her coat suddenly feeling very heavy on her. She quickly got rid of it, hanging it on the coat rack the woman showed her, the thing completely drenched with water. She then got closer to the fire, trying to stop her shivers. “Thank you,” she finally said to the woman, locking eyes with her.

“Don’t mention it,” she answered, her voice deep. “I wouldn’t let a dog out in that weather.”

Cassiopeia felt bad about Prince, still out there. She hoped he would be fine. “I’m Elliott.” She introduced herself with the false name she had chosen with Arthur, a security he had said, just in case. She didn’t really get it, but guessed it was an old habit from him. And it was shorter than her real one anyway.

“Juliet,” the woman said, sitting at a table, a plate full of food in front of her. She designated the chair on the other side, an empty plate in front of it. Cassiopeia got to it, not sure that she was really hungry. Juliet could still try to poison her, after all.

The woman served her, a nice-looking stew, with potatoes, carrots and small pieces of meat in it. Cassiopeia only looked at it, still rubbing at her arms to get rid of the cold lingering on herself.

“So,” started Juliet, eating a bit herself. “What was you doing out there all alone, Elliott? You’re, what, eleven?”

Cassiopeia blinked. Did she look older? Maybe because she was getting tall. “I was hunting with my Pa’,” she lied easily. “He told me to stay put somewhere but it started to rain, so I left.” This part was true, at least.

“He left you alone?” There was something like concern in her voice, and Cassiopeia suddenly felt uncomfortable. She didn’t like what she was implying.

“Yes,” she answered confidently.

Juliet studied her for a second, and Cassiopeia didn’t know what she saw, but there was abrupt anger in her gaze. “Does he hurt you?” she asked.

Cassiopeia never felt more scandalized. “No!” Arthur was the best man she knew and she wouldn’t let anyone insult him like that. “He would never do that!”

“But he left you alone in a storm.”

“The storm wasn’t there, and I can take care of myself!”

Juliet huffed. “You’re barely a teenager. He--”

“Say anything about him again and I stab you,” she warned in a growl.

The woman stopped, watching her face, and there was so much anger in Cassiopeia that it must have shown. Juliet only shook her head, apparently appalled, and opened her mouth to say more.

The door of the house burst out open, surprising them both, and three armed men entered in a rush, two aiming rifles at them, and the last one closing the door and locking it. Juliet raised both her hands in the air, a frightened look on her face, but Cassiopeia only grabbed the table in a tight grip, watching, analyzing. Old habits die hard.

The one on their left was a young boy, a teenager, blue eyes darting from Juliet to her, but aiming his gun at the former. He had a mask on the bottom of his face and a large brown hat hiding his hair. The one on their right was older, wrinkles around brown eyes, aiming at Cassiopeia. He was masked too, but didn’t wear any hat, showing almost white blond hair. The last one was rummaging through the house, extinguishing the candles illuminating them and often looking out of the windows. He had a large black hat over his head, but no mask was hiding his scarred face. One of his eyes was shut out by a huge scar, probably made by big claws. Cassiopeia couldn’t imagine any animal capable of doing that except for a bear, and the mere fact that he survived it meant a lot.

With the way they acted, they were definitely on the run.

Cassiopeia tried to look as scared as she could. Not that she wasn’t, they had guns, all of them, and she only had her knife and the old revolver she had stolen from the Sisters, of course she was afraid, but not enough to lose control of herself. It wasn’t Juliet’s case.

“ _ Please, please, don’t hurt me _ ,” the woman begged, tears running down her face.

“Shut up,” snaped the scarred one, looking at her with a hard eye. He turned to Cassiopeia, and she shrunk her head between her shoulders. He immediately forgot about her, focusing on Juliet. “Don’t scream, and maybe we won’t kill you.” With the way he shook his gun at them, it wasn’t an empty threat. Juliet shut her mouth, not making any more sounds.

Slowly, very slowly, Cassiopeia started to get her hands down off the table, going for her knife. She was decent with a gun, but not good enough to shoot them all. She would have to go for the blond one first, not only because he was probably the oldest, even if that didn’t really mean anything, but also because he seemed the more focused. Specifically, focused on her.

“Put your hands on the table,” he warned her, and Cassiopeia did the exact opposite, curling on herself and grabbing the hilt of her weapon without looking like it. The man got closer, almost shoving his barrel on her face. “I said, hands on the table.”

She pulled out her knife and lunged at him. He made a surprised sound, taking a step backward, avoiding the hit aimed at his chest, Cassiopeia striking him deep into the shoulder instead. He tried to grab her, letting go of his rifle, but the strength of her jump made them fall on the ground, Cassiopeia on top of him, taking the knife out with a twist meant to hurt, succeeding by the look in his eyes and the sharp breath he took, making a low and pained grunt. She lifted the weapon high, ready to sink it deep between the ribs, right into the heart, right to death—

She got yanked off by a rifle butt slamming on her skull, just above her left eye, pushing her hard on the wooded ground. The world spun around her as she tried to get up, tried to fight back, but a shoe punched her on the chin, then another in the ribs, and she felt all the air escaping her, suddenly unable to breath.

“ _ Let me kill--!”  _ Cassiopeia heard someone screamed despite the ringing in her ears, and she thought it was the blond man, the one she had stabbed.

“And let anyone hear the gunfire?” retorted the scarred one, right above her. She tried to open her eyes, but the world was still spinning and was now colored with red. He hit her one last time, right into her stomach, and she spat something that tasted like blood.

Cassiopeia didn’t feel very conscious after that. She hadn’t exactly fainted, still hearing noises around her, voices and steps hammering through her head, but she couldn’t focus on anything. She knew there was blood on her face, spilling from the cut the gun had left, and she briefly wondered if it would leave another scar. She could also feel the warmth of the fireplace behind her, slowly dying, just like the noises around her. In the end, she got surrounded by darkness and it felt like dying.

***

Everything was dark around her. There was no noise, no light, only emptiness and silence. She was eternally floating in a pool full of nothing.

In the blink of an eye, it stopped. There was light rain hitting a roof, cold wood under her, the creaking sound of the wind against the walls. She tried to move, to put herself on the back, but it was as if all of her limbs were frozen in place, stuck into something slimy on the ground. She was cold, oh so cold, and so much in pain. Her whole body was aching and her head was pounding, like a hammer hitting her skull from the inside. For a second, she wished to be dead rather than hurt.

A sound suddenly grabbed her attention, a voice far away, calling. She tried to focus on it, but it felt like the blowing wing was carrying it away and it kept appearing and disappearing, and she wondered if she was dreaming it or if it was some sort of ghost coming to get her.

“ _ Cass’! _ ” That was her name, she realized. Someone was calling her, looking for her in the middle of the cold and the darkness. She wanted to call back, but she could only cough blood when she opened her mouth, trying very hard to not choke on it. The voice kept calling her, but it was getting further and further away. Fear started to squeeze her heart with very sharp claws, and something in her needed to be released this instant or she would surely die just from it.

She couldn’t scream, even if she wanted to. She couldn’t get up and run to the voice. She only found enough strength to lift her fist up and smash it to the ground, trying to put all the dreadful feelings storming inside of her in this simple thing. It hurt. And the voice came back.

She did it again, harder, louder, and the skin opened, but the voice was coming and she didn’t stop, she hit the ground again and again until all her strength disappeared and a door was smashed open.

“Cass’!” There was too much worry in this voice and she hated it. A hand landed on her, big, light and warm. “ _ Jesus _ , the fuck happen’?” She tried to open her eyes, to look at him, at Arthur, that was him, of course it was him, but she couldn’t, they felt stuck. The hand left her shoulder and brushed her hair away, so gently, so softly, and she felt so angry at herself to not be able to do anything.

“Cass’, ya hear me?”  _ Yes _ , she wanted to scream, to answer, because he couldn’t be alright seeing her like that and she hated herself just for that simple fact. She didn’t even remember how she got like that. She tried to move again, and she must twitch somewhere, maybe her legs or a hand, because Arthur let out a heavy and shaking sigh, sounding a little relieved. “’Kay, hang on—” His hand left her again, and she panicked for a second, before she was lifted off of the floor, Arthur holding her against his chest, one arm on her back, and the other under her legs. “You’ll be okay,” he stated, going outside, in the cold, and she felt herself shivered, strengthening the pain, and everything after that became a blur.

***

Cassiopeia saw herself standing in an empty clearing, bathed in the sunlight. She could see the wind blowing through the trees, without making any sound. Everything was silent.

Then a bird screamed above her, and she looked up at the very blue sky, finding herself face to face with a hawk. Its wings were rapidly flapping, keeping itself in the same spot, and it was staring at her with green eyes. It screamed again, the sound smooth and pretty, before flying away, leaving her alone.

And she woke up.

***

Cassiopeia was laying on a comfortable mattress, a thick blanket over herself and her head on a big pillow. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a black wooden roof, decorated with a fancy chandelier. Where was she? In a hotel? Arthur hated them—

As soon as Arthur crossed her mind, she stood up on the bed in a swift move, instantly regretting it as the world suddenly started to spin and her head to throb with pain. She grabbed her skull, feeling a bandage under her palms, and tried to ease the pain by closing her eyes, in vain.

“Hey, easy there,” sounded Arthur’s voice next to her, putting a light hand on her back.

She half-opened an eye, watching him sitting on a chair, the worried lines on his forehead, the dark circle under his eyes, the soft smile on his lips. She smiled back, or tried at least. “Hey,” she whispered, before closing her eye again. The world was too bright.

He rubbed her back, and she focused on that, pushing the pain away with the soothing movement. “How ya feeling?” Arthur asked, concern in his deep voice.

“Ugh.” Cassiopeia didn’t really feel like talking, but she probably owed him an explanation. “I don’t know,” she started, voice hoarse. “Not great.”

“I bet,” he chuckled, but there wasn’t the usual warmth in it. He coughed a little, before clearing his throat. “Y’should rest, kid. Ya got hit pretty hard, apparently.”

“Did I?” Arthur gently grabbed her shoulders, pushing her back into the bed. She dared to open her eyes again, and though there was still too much light, the black ceiling was helping with it. She rubbed at the bandage encircling her head, trying to know how big it was.

“Doc said you had a concussion, or somethin’.” Cassiopeia turned to him, frowning, meeting his blue eyes. His smile wavered, and he sat on the bed beside her, lightly ruffling her hair. “You also have two broken ribs, and ya almost broke your hand too.” She lifted it, watching it being heavily bandaged, before letting it fall on the blanket. Arthur sighed, rubbing his eyes, and the smile was gone now. “What happen’?” he finally asked, locking eyes with her, and they were so full of worry Cassiopeia wanted to cry.

She tried to remember. She really did. But the whole thing was escaping her. She remembered the rain, the storm, then the house and a woman – what was her name? She gave it to her, Cassiopeia knew that – but then everything was in a fog.

Arthur brushed her shoulder, bringing her back to reality. “I found your note,” he explained, letting his hand in place, grounding her. “Ya did the right thing,” he kept saying, reassuring her. “Shouldn’t have stayed out with the storm. But then I-- I couldn’t find you  _ anywhere _ . Prince was nowhere near the house and everythin’ was dark, I thought it was abandoned. But I heard the slamming and I found you with- with blood all over your face and a dead woman.” He took a deep breath, rubbing at his face again, looking very old and tired.

Cassiopeia heard everything, but she was able to focus on only one thing. “Prince is gone?” she asked, devastated.

Arthur held up a hand, calming her. “I found him back, he hadn’t gone too far. Probably got untied by the wind or somethin’.”

The barrel of a gun flashed over Cassiopeia’s eyes, and suddenly she knew. “They untied him.”

Arthur's face got darker in an instant. “ _ They? _ ” he asked, voice tight.

“Three men.” Their faces appeared in her mind, but she immediately forgot them. “I think I did something. Maybe try to kill one of them but I… I think I failed.”

“What about the woman?”

“Juliet.” She had said mean things about Arthur, but she had welcomed her in her house despite not knowing her. She felt bad that she died in this mess. Maybe it was her fault. “They probably killed her.”

Arthur cursed under his breath, but Cassiopeia only heard it from far away, suddenly stuck in her own mind, before getting yanked back into reality by a squeeze on her shoulder. She looked back at Arthur, saw the fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling like she had failed him.

He laughed, a broken sound with a broken smile. “Don’t. You alive, that’s what’s important.” He gulped then cleared his throat again, averted her gaze. “I thought ya were dead, when I saw you.”

Cassiopeia studied his face, the suppressed feeling he didn’t want to show but could still crack his mask a little, the pain from almost losing her, the dread of seeing her body still and covered in blood. She slowly got up, not wanting to feel hurt again, and gently wrapped her arms around him in a crushing hug. He hugged her back, squeezing her, not too tight to not disturbed her healing ribs, but tight enough to know that he really got scared.

“I’m okay,” she softly said in his ear, chin on his shoulder.

He huffed a laugh at that. “Mostly.”

She shrugged, reviving the pain on her chest. “Mostly,” she confirmed in a playful ton. “But I’ll be fine.” Cassiopeia got away from him, holding on his arms, smirking. “I’m tough.”

He snorted, and though there was still worry in his gaze, it was mixed with relief and maybe something even softer she couldn’t exactly name. “Tough, yeah. Sure thing, kid.” He brought her back to his chest and she let him. It wasn’t like she hated it anyway.

They stayed like that for a long time, relieved in each other's presence, listening to each other's heartbeat, surrounded by the silence. When Cassiopeia felt like she was about to fall asleep on Arthur, she teared herself from him, laying back on the mattress. “Are we going to stay here?” she asked, voice tired, before yawning.

“’Til you get back on your feet, yeah.” He tucked her under the heavy blanket. “Then we’ll head East.”

“East?” She yawned again.

“Yeah,” Arthur answered, voice very far away.

Cassiopeia hummed. “Maybe we’ll find John there.”

She heard Arthur take a deep breath, before finally falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly know nothing about concussion ._.  
> And maybe the hawk doesn't exactly feel like a noble animal, but I love hawks so much that I chosed it for Cass'


	5. To Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contain Implied/Referenced PTSD and some Cynophobia.

“What’s a ‘hobgoblin’?” Cassiopeia whispered to herself.

She was seated on a bench, under the porch of the grocery store of the town, reading. Prince was tied to a pole next to the place, peacefully eating something on the ground. There were people around her, but she was too focused on the adventure of the Snow Queen to actually register them, barely aware of their presence.

She had found this book in the store while buying food and other things Arthur had asked – new matches, horses supplies, ammunition for their guns, a new hat for Arthur to protect him from the summer sun, having the previous one on a bounty hunting. The story was strange and there were many words she didn’t understand, but she still liked it. It was very much different from the kind of book Arthur bought her in the beginning, some simple stories to learn how to read, and she thrived in this novelty.

“What are you reading?” Cassiopeia jumped at the voice beside her, turning to see a tiny boy looking at the pages as if there was a treasure in it. She quickly closed it, feeling as if he was watching her very own life, and immediately felt guilty when he made a crestfallen expression.

“Uh,” she started eloquently, and the kid’s very dark eyes fell on her, and she couldn’t not answer so much innocence. “It’s called The Snow Queen.”

“Is she the hero?” He had a tiny voice and Cassiopeia felt herself falling in love.

“I don’t know yet. I just started it.” She looked around them, finding no one watching them and frowned. “Where are your parents?” The kid blinked a few times, before taking in his surroundings, and with the confusion and fear appearing on his face, Cassiopeia took a good guess that he had lost them. Quick, she needed to get his mind out of it so he wouldn’t start crying on her, she would be very lost on what to do. “What’s your name?”

He turned to her again, and it seemed to do the trick. “Jamie.” He pointed at her then, very impolitely, but given the fact that he was probably not more than four, she only found him very cute. “What is yours?”

“Cass’,” she answered with a smile. Only Arthur was allowed to call her like that, but Jamie would probably find her name to be very difficult. She stood up, putting her book away in her satchel, and extended a hand to him. He grabbed it without hesitation. “We’re gonna go find your parents. Where did you leave them?”

He nodded very seriously, making her chuckle, before pointing a vague direction. Cassiopeia nodded back and led them both through the town, and kept talking to Jamie. “What do they look like?”

“Momma is tiny and has very pretty hair and Papa is tiny too and his hair is very long.”

That wasn’t exactly helpful, but it’ll have to do. “And what was you doing?”

Jamie put a finger on his chin, seeming to think very hard to remember, frowning deeply, and Cassiopeia chuckled again. He was very,  _ very _ cute. Then he beamed. “There was sheep!”

_ Sheep means dogs _ , said a tiny voice in her head, but she ignored it. “Well then, let’s find them.”

They walked like that for quite a time, wandering through the main street of the town. They didn’t talk more, but Jamie started to hum a lullaby to himself, playing with the dirt with his cute little shoes. After some time, Cassiopeia realized it was a song she knew, something her mother used to sing to her, and she started to hum with him, feeling a mix of nostalgia, sadness and content with Jamie’s hand in hers.

In the end, she reached the livestock market, sheep bleating all over the place. There were dogs barking around, and Cassiopeia felt herself tense at the sounds, but she focused on scanning the place, trying to pinpoint tiny adults among everyone, but there were too many people. She sighed, hoping they didn’t abandon their kid just like that. “Do you see them?” she still asked, just in case.

“No,” Jamie answered, voice shaking a little, and there were tears in his eyes when she turned down to him. She froze, having no idea on how to deal with that and still wanting to do something. She stared at him for long seconds, seeing the tears finally go down on his baby cheeks, and a cry getting out of him.

She jumped at the sound and quickly crouched down, getting on his eye level. “Hey,” she started, voice very soft. “We’ll find them, Jamie. Promise.” She patted his shoulder, not sure if he wanted more or nothing at all.

He rubbed at his eyes, and looked up at her, bottom lip trembling. “You promise?”

“Yeah,” she answered, realizing her mistake at the same instant. The kid would be devastated in many ways if they didn’t find them. She rubbed at his arms, trying to sooth him. “Come on,” Cassiopeia smiled, getting up and taking his hand back. “Let’s take a look around.”

“ _ Jamie! _ ”

They both jumped at the scream, turning at the same time to a short chubby woman with black hair and very blue eyes running to them, in tears. “Momma!” screamed Jamie back, and Cassiopeia suddenly let go of his hand as he ran to his mother. A short man was following her, a look of despair and relief mixed on his face, dark eyes shining bright with tears. They both fell to their knees, hugging their kid in a tight embrace and Cassiopeia suddenly felt her heart ache with something, not really understanding what. She clutched the shirt on her chest, trying to turn the feeling off, but unable to.

She gave a wobbly smile when Jamie turned to her, pointing at her. “This is Cass’!” he said, voice very high with happiness. “She helped me!”

“Thank you,” the father said, ruffling his son's hair. He got up and searched in his pocket while walking to her. When he got to Cassiopeia, he took out a clip of cash from his pocket, and she felt like puking. “Here, take this, it’s the least we can do.”

“No, I—” She took a step back, waving her hands at him, but he gently grabbed her wrist, freezing her.

“Please.” He put the dollars in her hand. “I insist.”

She shook herself from the fear, trying to forget the man’s hand on her. “I can’t take it, I didn’t do it for that—”

“Miss,” he interrupted her, finally letting go of her. She took a deep breath, desperately trying to escape the ghosts around her. “Jamie is everything to us. Please, take it.”

Cassiopeia could only look at him, the soft smile on his face, the happy tears in his eyes, and she nodded. He nodded back and returned to his family while Cassiopeia fled to the grocery store, to Prince, and when she finally reached the stallion in a dizzy state, she put her head on his neck, hugging him tight, feeling her wrist burn. The stallion snored at her, putting his heavy head on her back in a very human way, probably feeling the storm of anguish inside of her. She stayed like that, focusing on Prince’s fur on her face, his slow heartbeat going through his neck, the warmth of his skin. Bit by bit, she reconnected with reality, the sound of people and carts around her, horses neighing in the distance.

She heard Arthur’s footsteps along with Artemis before they reached them, but she didn’t find the strength to take herself away from Prince and pretend to be fine. His pace quickened, probably seeing her, and he was to her in an instant. He didn’t say anything at first, only patted Prince’s head, before slowly getting close to her, not touching her.

“Cass’?” he called softly, and relief washed over her when hearing his deep voice, but she didn’t let go of the stallion’s neck. Arthur sighed, probably very confused. “Cass’,” he called again. “Can ya hear me?” She nodded, unable to talk. He put a light hand on her shoulder, and she shrunk under it, getting away from his touch. He sighed again, getting his hand away, before leaving her side. She heard the bench she was seated on earlier crack under his weight, and she knew he would wait for her as long as she needed.

Cassiopeia didn’t know how much time passed, exactly, but when her mind felt empty enough and she finally got away from Prince, the sun was still high in the sky, slowly going down to the horizon. She turned to Arthur, who was drawing something in his journal, and walked to him, sitting beside him, feeling heavy and exhausted.

Arthur closed his journal, keeping it on his thighs, and shifted completely to her, watching her intently. “What happened?” he simply asked.

She looked up at him, into his very blue eyes dotted with green, seeing the concern in them, along with patience and suddenly she had to ask a very important question.

“Do you love me?” she said in a tiny voice.

Arthur's eyes widened, clearly unprepared for this question. He opened his mouth once, closed it, tried again, and nothing came out. He closed his eyes, rubbed at them while taking a deep breath, then focused on Cassiopeia again. “Where does that come from?”

“You didn’t answer,” she retorted.

“Answer me first, please.”

She sighed, understanding why, in a way. She looked away from him, staring at the ground, and told him what happened with Jamie, how she helped him, what his father did, and she suddenly felt sick again. She clenched the wood of the bench, putting the feeling away as hard as she could, eyes closed.

She heard Arthur crossing his arms on his chest, so she opened her eyes again and watched him clearly lost in thought. “So,” he began, “you saw a happy family and it scared you?”

“Not  _ scared _ ,” Cassiopeia retorted, shrugging. “It just… I don’t know.” She looked away. “It felt like lacking something.”

Arthur hummed quietly. “Lacking a family.”

She shrugged again. “I guess.”

None of them spoke, both lost in their own mind. Cassiopeia didn’t know when it happened, but she had slowly started to see Arthur as her family. She loved him, really. But did he love her?

She thought about everything they’d been through together, the cold, the storms, the rain, the tears and the blood. He had taught her how to read, how to shoot, to properly ride a horse, how to take care of them. She discovered many animals with him, many birds, and she knew how to recognize them now, thanks to the binoculars he gave to her such a long time ago. He had shown her what plants were good for her health, for her horse, and which one to avoid. She knew how to light a fire, to read the wind to predict the weather, to hunt. He had given her so much, and she had tried to do the same, to teach him the subtle change in someone demeanor, to read their weakness, to find bird’s nest so they could have eggs for breakfast, how to cook an edible and tasteful stew, but it still didn’t feel enough in comparison. It’ll probably never be.

Cassiopeia sighed, exhausted by the storm of emotion going down inside of her, and let her head fall on Arthur’s shoulder. He naturally passed an arm behind her, hugging her to his chest.

“Cass’,” he said, voice unsure. She looked up at him, saw the grief in his eyes, and frowned. “Did I ever tell ya about Isaac?”

She tilted her head, trying to know if she ever heard the name, and shook her head. Arthur only sighed, brushing a hand over his face, looking in the distance. He took his hat off, putting it above his journal. “Isaac was my son.”

Cassiopeia straightened, bewildered, but immediately stopped herself at the use of the past. “Was?” she carefully asked.

Arthur nodded. “He passed away, years ago, alon’ with his mother, Eliza.” He huffed a laugh, full of a regret. “He was a sweet kid,” he explained. “But I didn’t go see him often enough.” This was an important confidence, Cassiopeia realized. Something he probably rarely talked about. “I loved him, I guess. Probably still do. But after findin’ their graves, I felt like loving was—too much, I s’pose. Even with—” He stopped himself, sighing, something very heavy in his shaky breath. Cassiopeia felt her heart stutter, wishing she could help in any way and knowing there was nothing she could do. He waved a hand, as if pushing the story away. “Then everything with the gang happen’, it all fell apart and I— I got to live again.” He shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips, before turning to her, something soft appearing in his gaze. “Then I met ya, Cass’. You’re sweet, just like Isaac. And it’s hard to not love ya.”

Cassiopeia blinked, unsure of what Arthur just said, and the man only chuckled at her confusion, that thunder noise she liked so much. When understanding finally reached her, she inhaled a sharp breath, stood up and just launched herself at Arthur's neck. He welcomed her with a huff, probably not ready for the cannonball, but quickly put his arms around her, hugging her back.

It only lasted a moment, because she almost immediately pulled out, hands on his shoulders. “Does that mean you see me as  _ your _ kid?” she asked, the question feeling very important.

Arthur shrugged, an amused light in his eyes. “Depends,” he answered. “Do ya see me as you Pa’?”

She didn’t have to think about it. “Yes.” She blushed, feeling awkward and embarrassed.

But Arthur only laughed, easing her worries. “Guess you are, then,” he replied, adjusting her hat, and she smiled, her heart feeling light again.

“Cass!”

Cassiopeia turned around, surprised to hear her nickname, and was only greeted with the sight of Jamie, both hands held by his parents, a wide smile on his face. A took his hand out of his mother’s and waved at her, apparently very happy to see her, and his father smiled with him, softness in his gaze. She waved back, unsure if it was the right thing to do, taken aback to see them again, and watched them going through the main street.

Arthur stood up, and she turned to him, seeing him put his hat back on his head and tucking away his journal. He was watching the family too, smiling something a little bit sad, and Cassiopeia frowned, not sure to know why. Then he turned to Prince, the stallion playfully bothering Artemis like the teenager he was, the mare not paying him any attention. “That’s not why you shut down, right?”

She tensed a little, not sure if she really wanted to talk about it. “No,” she still answered. “Jamie’s pa… he grabbed my wrist, to give me money.” She clutched it with her own hand, pushing the phantom touch away. “He didn’t hurt me, but…” She hugged herself, not knowing how to explain what happened.

Arthur only hummed, apparently understanding. “It reminded ya of bad things.” She nodded, a bit surprised he could read her mind, and he put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “Happens,” he said, smiling softly. “I got that, too, sometimes.”

Cassiopeia eyes widened. “You do?”

“Every time I hear the word ‘plan’,” he grinned and it felt like a joke she couldn’t really understand. He shoved her hat deep onto her head, but it fitted now, lacking the previous effect of blinding her and he grunted at that, “You grow too fast, kid.”

“I’m almost eleven, Arthur,” she pointed out.

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, going to Artemis, and she laughed as she followed him. They mounted their horses, finally leaving the town, still going to the East.

***

The night was well advanced when Cassiopeia woke up to voices. One was Arthur’s, but she didn’t know the other. Their words were muffled by the sleep still surrounding her mind, and it was hard to focus on them.

“We need to stop meeting like this, Arthur,” said the smooth voice of a man speaking with confidence and power. She tried to open her eyes, to see who that could be, but she was way too tired for that.

“What are you doing here, you demon?” Arthur sounded angry, much angrier than what she was used to.

“May I?” The man didn’t wait for an answer and Cassiopeia heard him sit on the ground. “How are things going, old friend?”

“They’d be goin’ smoother if you’d  _ answer me _ .”

“I’m very sorry, but I can’t do that.” Arthur made a choked sound, as if about to argue vehemently, but the stranger interrupted him. “I see you found yourself a companion.”

“Don’t even  _ look _ at the kid, or I’ll—”

“No need for such empty treats, old friend.” The stranger got up, brushing something off of him. “Don’t be so angry with me, Arthur. Our little... arrangement, it’s doing you good.” Arthur growled. “Until we meet again.”

Cassiopeia felt sleep claim her again as the man left their camp, and she wondered briefly if everything was real or if it was just a strange dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't supposed to exist, but here it is and I love it.  
> Also, is that the plot finally kicking in? Yes it is!


	6. To Forgive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Implied/Referenced Suicide, and even if nobody dies, please don't hurt yourself while reading it.  
> I'm not exactly satisfied with its title, but that's the best I found so far, so here it is!

Cassiopeia had finished building her shelter out of pine branches she had found, laying her bedroll just under it after getting rid of all the snow. Prince was peacefully eating some leaves out of a bush, right beside her fire, and Cassiopeia watched him for a moment, seated on the ground, arms crossed.

She had left Arthur two days ago.

She regretted it, she really did, but she wouldn’t come back.

It had started over something stupid, one argument that escalated into real anger and led to this mess of a situation. She couldn’t even remember the reason behind all of this.

“ _I can take care of myself just fine,_ ” she had said, “ _I don’t need your help!_ ”

“ _You don’t?_ ” Arthur had answered, voice cold. “ _Then why don’t you leave?_ ” And she did.

Cassiopeia sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. She knew he probably didn’t really mean it, that he just got worked up, just like herself. Anger make anyone just very stupid. But she couldn’t help the feeling of betrayal to creep over her heart. She had made herself vulnerable over Arthur, and here she was now.

“I’ll show him,” she whispered to herself. “I don’t need anyone.”

She sighed once more, a part of her knowing that it was useless, that she wouldn’t see him again anyway. She was alone now. Alone for the last week of the year 1906. Probably alone for the rest of her life.

Prince suddenly lifted his head from the ground, ears twitching toward something Cassiopeia couldn’t hear. She got up, rifle in hand – the one Arthur gave her – trusting Prince’s hearing. The stallion had always been good at detecting danger. She heard the snow creaking before seeing anything. She straightened, ready to put up a fight, when someone finally appeared at the light of her fire. She frowned.

The man was dressed in a dark city suit, clearly not warm enough for the cold of December. He had a black top hat, and a well-kept mustache, and without really knowing why, she had the impression that the stranger was both young and old, something about the way he moved himself, and the aura of danger and power surrounding him. He was going straight to her, hands on his back, a strange smile on his lips.

“Good evening, Cassiopeia,” he said with a deep, soft voice. “May I sit by your fire?” he added, pointing at the flames

Something in him felt familiar, but she was pretty sure she had never seen him. She glanced at Prince, who was back at eating, the stallion apparently unbothered. “Sure,” she said, lowering her weapon.

The man slightly bowed his head in thanks, and finally reached her. His eyes focused on her, so very grey, and Cassiopeia felt like she was staring at a building storm. Then he turned around and she was staring at a man again. She sat just at the same time as him, realizing that he wasn’t even shivering from the cold.

“Do I know you?” she asked, unable to keep the question to herself.

“Many do,” he simply stated. Cassiopeia just squinted at him, realizing that he was the type of person pretending to answer you, but actually didn’t. Arthur was like that, sometimes, but this was on another level. The best thing to do was to just give up.

“Do you want some tea?” she suggested instead, pointing at the kettle over the fire. She didn’t wait for him to answer, grabbing her own cup and pouring hot water into it, washing it a little, before filling it completely and putting her favorite herbs in it.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” the stranger thanked her, taking the cup between his bare hand. The thing was probably scorching hot, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. She kept studying him, trying to recall where she could have met him, and understand who he really was. He still wasn’t shivering from the cold, despite being sitting directly on snow, and there was no way those pants could protect him from just getting wet. Was she hallucinating?

“You have many questions.” The stranger interrupted her thoughts, and she focused on his storming eyes again. “I can see them in your eyes.”

“Are you real?” The question bursted out of her, and she felt like someone had just taken it out by force.

“As real as the wind,” he replied. That was another non answer, and an ominous one at that.

She hummed, giving up again. “It’s a strange time to be out all alone,” she said, pointing at the night sky.

“I guess it is,” the stranger chuckled. “But I’m not the only one being alone.” He put his full cup on the floor, before gazing at her once more.

Cassiopeia got lost in his eyes, the eye of the storm. And suddenly, crawling on her skin, the fear hit her, taking her breath away, freezing her heart to death, and disappeared as fast as it came. She was left trembling, and Prince’s nicker was the only thing showing that it all really happened. She came to a quick conclusion.

This stranger wasn’t human.

“You are clever, Cassiopeia,” he said in his strange, soft voice. “Cleverer than your father.”

Arthur came to her mind, but she pushed him away. “I don’t have any father,” she objected, bringing her knee to her chest.

The man smiled, turning to the flames. “I guess not.” It hurt more than it should. “Family… What a complicated thing.” She hummed, unable to disagree. “I have a son, you know. I wonder what kind of mistake I will make with him.” Cassiopeia didn’t know if she should believe him or not. The stranger sighed, something sounding both happy and sad, before focusing on her again. “Can I ask you for a favor, Cassiopeia?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “A friend of mine is going through a hard time. I think you could be _exactly_ what she needs.”

She studied him, avoiding his piercing gaze, and wondered if she was even allowed to say no. “Sure,” she replied, both because of this feeling and because it felt important. “Where can I find her?”

“The North of Strawberry.” She remembered the town, she and Arthur had passed by it a few days ago. Before everything happened. “A strange town, if you ask me, but they have a nice view from the cliff.”

Was it more indication or just a comment? Cassiopeia couldn’t tell. Maybe both. “What’s her name?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Cassiopeia. You’ll know her when you see her.” _Well, if he says so._ He clasped his hands then, getting up in one fluid motion. He brushed at his pants, even though there was _nothing_ on it, the thing still very much dry, and tipped his hat at her, a silent farewell. “Until we meet again.”

The stranger turned his back at her, disappearing into the night, not leaving any footprint behind him. Cassiopeia watched him, astounded, seeing his form vanished in the shadows, and she really would have thought the whole thing was a very strange dream if it hadn’t been for Prince’s neigh. She turned to the stallion, which was watching her calmly. “What just happened?” she asked him, and he answered with a snore. She rubbed at her eyes. “What the heck was that?” She turned to the point where the man was seated, seeing the form of him on the snow. That didn’t make any sense.

She just shook her head, unable to comprehend what really happened. “Let’s just sleep.” She gathered herself in the sleeping bag under her shelter and immediately fell asleep.

***

Cassiopeia disliked Strawberry very much. The town was seized by humidity and the smell of eternal mud and everyone looked rather unhappy. It had nice wooden homes, though, and the butcher was kind enough to accept her pelts and meat and give her the right amount of money for each, even if she was way too young to be doing this. Actually, she wondered if it really was a good thing.

After gathering her money and buying herself something hot to eat – hot chestnut with sugar, apparently the speciality around here – she got back on Prince, heading North. Cassiopeia lightly spurred the stallion, and they trotted peacefully out of Strawberry.

Will she actually be able to find the stranger’s friend? The man barely gave her a direction and a location, and there was a whole mountain up North, with many cliffs. Which one could it be? She tightened the scarf around her neck, a red one Arthur had found, and tried to focus on the slippery road under Prince’s hooves. She stiffened her hold on the reins, making the stallion slow down, not wanting an accident.

The sun had risen a few hours ago, but with how short the days were, it already felt like it was an eternity. Its heat wasn’t enough to warm them up and the clouds passing by didn’t help. Even though, Cassiopeia couldn’t imagine living a different life. The six first years of life, living in the brothel with her mother and all of her coworkers seemed like a lifetime ago, and most of her memories were a blur, with how young she was. Now that she knew what it was to live outdoors, surrounded by nature and the wildness, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to live in a house again. Living and wandering with Arthur did that to her, she guessed.

Cassiopeia pushed the man out of her mind again, focusing on the snow that had started to fall. She looked up at the sky, trying to know if a storm was coming, but the clouds were light colored. Nothing to worry about. Then Prince made a low snore, stopping, and she looked around, trying to spot what had frightened him.

She got struck by the view.

The road she had taken was going around the mountain, going up then down, and she probably was around the highest point of it. The view of the valley was just stunning, with the river peacefully flowing between the forests, attracting many different sorts of animals. She got Arthur’s binoculars out, observing everything she could see, spotting a grizzly hunting fish and a pack of wolves hunting an elk. She even saw a vulture gliding in the sky, followed by some crows. This place was just beautiful.

Cassiopeia lowered the binoculars, a wide smile on her lips, when she spotted the woman.

She was dressed with a heavy white coat, and Cassiopeia probably wouldn’t have seen her against the snow if it wasn’t for her brown hair, freely flowing with the wind, snow slowly sticking to them. She was looking at the view, too, but the more Cassiopeia looked at her, the more something felt wrong.

She was standing very close to the edge of the cliff.

Was that actually why Prince had stopped? She patted the stallion neck, always amazed by his perception, before getting down, trying to be noisy to not startle the woman. The latter moved her waist, as if to turn around, but abruptly stopped, not getting her eyes away from the valley.

“Ma’am?” Cassiopeia called, slowly walking to her.

“Nice view, isn’t it?” she answered, voice smooth, but there was something in her tone Cassiopeia couldn’t pinpoint.

“Yeah,” she still answered, getting closer. Enough for the woman to be fully aware of her but not too much to not overwhelm her. It felt like dancing, in a way. “But, uh, you should probably step back a bit. The snow’s slippery.”

She huffed a laugh at that, and it sounded so resigned that Cassiopeia suddenly understood what was going on and why everything looked so wrong.

She was about to jump to her death.

Cassiopeia didn’t feel ready to take care of that, but she wouldn’t just watch someone end their life in front of her without doing anything. “Ma’am,” she called again, hearing the fear leaking in her voice. “Please, don’t… Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” Cassiopeia finally recognized the despair in her tone. “I don’t have anything left. Everyone I cared about, they all disappeared from my life.” She let out a heavy sigh and her whole frame shivered. Cassiopeia knew it wasn’t from the cold. “My father died because of his sins, my brother died at sea, going to France, my husband was taken by pneumonia, leaving me without children…” There were tears in her voice, but she kept going. “And the only man who truly loved me… The life he lived got him, in the end.” She shrugged, letting out a sad laugh, full of regret and many other things. “This life isn’t worth living anymore.”

Cassiopeia sighed. She clearly wasn’t prepared for this. She rubbed at her face, adjusting her hat, and finally got closer to the woman, sticking to her side, shoulder almost touching hers, eyes on the valley. She was almost as tall as her. “My mother died when I was six,” she said, trying to build a bridge between this woman’s pain and hers. “Sometimes I feel like I’m forgetting her face, but then… something reminds me of her. She loved lilies and the stars. And there was this lullaby she would sing to me, and even if I don’t remember the lyrics, I still know the tune.” She smiled at that, memories of Jamie and her mother flooding her.

A long silence stretched between them, and Cassiopeia felt like every second was a victory against death.

“Why are you telling me that?” the woman asked in a soft whisper.

Cassiopeia shrugged. “I don’t really know. I guess…” She stopped, gathering her thoughts. “Even if my mother is dead, there’s still a part of her living in me. So… There’s probably still a part of your loved ones living in you, too.” She thought about Arthur, then, and all the things he did for her. She shook her head, trying to forget him. She turned to the woman instead, not able to make out her features, her hair all around her face. “Do you…” She hesitated, scared that she would cross a line. “Do you want to tell me something? About the one you loved?”

The woman hummed, not answering. Cassiopeia didn’t pry. If she really wanted to, she would.

She took a deep breath then, and Cassiopeia felt like she was taking a leap of faith in her own heart. “My husband was a sweet man,” she started. “We didn’t… It wasn’t a marriage out of love, but he had always been kind to me. I did love him, in a way. My brother…” She laughed a little, the sound light. “Oh, my brother was the stubborn kind. He had joined the Chelonian, at some point, the fool, but my ex-fiancé saved him from it.” She stopped, stiffening all of a sudden.

Cassiopeia understood that this person was probably the most important of them all. Maybe she should share something herself, to put her at ease. Arthur came to her mind once again, and this time she wasn’t able to put him away. “My—” she started, before abruptly stopping. She sighed, her heart aching. “My father… he’s not dead, but we parted away.” She rubbed at her chest. “He’s not my real father, but he taught me everything and he’s probably the kindest person I know.” She turned to Prince, waiting at the side of the road, spying on a squirrel in a tree. “I miss him, I think.”

“What happened?”

She cracked a laugh, waving a hand. “Something stupid.”

The woman hummed again, seeming to understand. “It’s often the case.”

Cassiopeia huffed, a bit amused. “I guess.” She looked up at the sky, the snowflake getting bigger, then at her feet and how close they were from falling. She turned to the woman. “We really should step away from there.”

She sighed, looking at the ground, so very far away, before nodding. “Yes, we should.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, finally revealing her face.

Cassiopeia loudly gasped, because there was a mole on her cheek, and she knew those features, she had seen them, so long ago, in Arthur’s journal. “Mary?” she whispered, not sure of what was happening.

Mary turned to her, frowning in confusion, studying her with brown eyes. “Do I know you?”

“I— No, but—” She stuttered, unable to express herself. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to get herself together, took a deep breath and opened them again. She took a step back from the cliff, extending a hand to Mary. “Let’s get away first.”

Mary stared at her for a moment more, dark eyes clouded with interest, before taking her hand and stepping away from the cliff. Cassiopeia led her to Prince, who had sheltered himself under the branches of a pine tree. He neighed at them once they got close, and Cassiopeia petted his cheek.

“How do you know my name?” Mary asked. She let go of Cassiopeia’s hand, and now there was something hard in her gaze, looking a lot like suspicion. Cassiopeia could only sigh, not knowing where to start.

“Okay, hum.” This whole situation was getting terribly awkward. “First of all, my name’s Cassiopeia. And, uh. I know you because of Arthur.”

Mary's eyes widened, and something changed in her expression, looking a lot like grief. “You knew Arthur?”

Cassiopeia frowned at the past tense. “Yeah. I saw a picture of you in his journal, that’s why I know you.”

Her eyebrows contorted upward, sadness all over her face, and she put a hand on her cheek, looking away, lost in her memories. “Oh, Arthur…” she whispered. Something wasn’t right in all of this. “I should have insisted for him to leave this life. Maybe he wouldn’t be dead, by now.”

Cassiopeia blinked. “W-wait a second,” she stuttered, not sure of what she’d just heard. “Arthur’s _dead_?”

“Of course,” Mary answered, looking at Cassiopeia with pity. “He died seven years ago.” She let out an angry laugh. “Left to die by his own kind.”

Cassiopeia felt like she could breathe again, because Arthur _wasn’t_ dead. “I don’t know who told you that,” she laughed, suddenly feeling very light. “But I saw Arthur last week.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter,” Mary scolded her, looking at her as if she was the most unrespectable person on Earth.

“Look, I get that it might be— _unbelievable_ , to say the least, but it’s true,” Cassiopeia countered. “My father I told you about, it’s _him_ , it’s Arthur.”

Mary huffed a dark laugh, clearly skeptical. “You might be talking about someone else.”

Cassiopeia felt anger growing inside of her. “Do you know many other Arthur Morgan, out there?” she said in a stern voice. She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling her self-control slipping.

“I’ve been on his grave,” Mary kept going, as if she hadn’t said anything.

“Then this grave is empty!” she snapped. 

Prince snorted at her, pushing her with his big head. Cassiopeia turned to him, surprised, before realizing what she was doing. She was screaming at a woman who was about to end her life because she had lost everything. She was claiming that what she believed was wrong, turning her whole world upside down.

“Damn it,” Cassiopeia whispered, brushing Prince’s noise. She didn’t deserve this horse. She turned to Mary, who was looking at the valley again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Shouldn’t have snapped. But, please, Mary. I’m telling you the truth.”

“How can I believe you?” she answered, gaze hard. She was trying to look tough, Cassiopeia realized. Tougher than she was.

“Let’s find him,” she offered. “When I left him, he was supposed to go to Valentine. He might still be there.” It was three days ago, but even if he wasn’t exactly in town, he might be around, hunting. She knew him well enough to find him back.

She was doing it for Mary, though. Not for herself.

She looked at Mary, waiting for her to take a decision. She looked conflicted, and Cassiopeia could understand that; she was still a stranger to her, after all, even with what she claimed, and Mary was unarmed, vulnerable to her and all of her weapons. Cassiopeia took her revolver out then, handing it to Mary. The woman took a step backward, as if afraid of the gun.

“You don’t trust me,” Cassiopeia said. “I get that. So, take this, if it makes you feel more at ease.”

“I-I don’t know how to use it.” She seemed to shiver for a second, and Cassiopeia guessed it was from fear.

She only smiled at Mary, carefully taking her hand and putting it around the handle of the gun. “You’ll be right behind me. Just trigger it, and I’ll be dead.” Mary may not trust her, but Cassiopeia felt she could trust Mary. The woman only nodded, clearly uncomfortable with the weapon. “Com’on then,” Cassiopeia smiled, mounting on Prince. She held a hand to Mary, and after a few seconds watching it, she took it to get behind Cassiopeia, lightly holding her waist with one hand.

“Let’s ride fast, my boy,” she whispered in Prince’s ear, and the stallion shook his head, neighing a happy noise, before immediately sprinting forward.

***

The night was well advanced when they got into Valentine, the town still awake despite the hour. The place smelled like livestock and the snow on the streets was darkened by all the mud, just like in Strawberry. Cassiopeia slowed Prince down when they got closer to the border, trying to spot Artemis near the train station and at the stable, without seeing the mare. Well, it couldn’t be that easy, right?

But then she turned into the main street, and saw the horse tied just in front of the saloon, with her head low. Prince made a low noise, happy to see the mare, and Artemis turned to them, neighing back.

“Hey, girl,” said Cassiopeia when they got near her, getting dismounting her stallion. She patted Artemis on the neck, and turned to Mary, still on Prince’s back, gun still in hand. “You should probably stay here,” she objected when she saw her get down. “He probably needs a warning before seeing you again.”

Mary sighed, shoulders dropping. “I guess you’re right. Will you…” She hesitated, turning to Cassiopeia. “Will you be alright?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Cassiopeia smiled. “I know how to handle him, by now.”

Mary studied her for a short moment, before nodding, but she didn’t move. Cassiopeia stayed beside her, feeling like something was going on, but not really knowing what. She saw Mary pass a hand over the barrel of the gun, the gesture almost compulsive, and it suddenly all made sense.

“I can take the gun back, if you want,” she suggested.

Mary jumped at her voice, and Cassiopeia jumped with her, not expecting to startle her. Mary glanced at the revolver still in her hand, and it started to shake. Cassiopeia gently grabbed it, catching Mary’s eyes, and she smiled, peeling Mary’s finger away from the steel, taking the weapon back. “The sheriff’s office is right here,” she said, pointing at the place close to the saloon. “Scream if anything happens, alright?”

Mary gulped, locked in place, and Cassiopeia slowly led her to one of the benches outside of the place. She made her sit down and lightly patted her shoulder, before turning to the saloon again.

Cassiopeia sighed, not ready to see Arthur again, but willing to do so for Mary. She pushed the door of the saloon, immediately hearing the piano playing lightly in the background, along with people talking among themselves. Someone was being taken care of by a barber in the background and two women were trying to tempt men into their bed.

She looked around the place, without seeing Arthur. Where could the man be? She headed to the bartender, who was watching her with suspicion.

“We don’t give alcohol to kids, here,” he warned her.

“I’m looking for someone,” she replied, ignoring him. “A man, brown hair, blue eyes, dark cowboy hat. He has a scar on his chin,” she added, pointing at herself to show the place of the scar.

The bartender squinted at her. “Who’s asking for him?”

That meant he was here at some point, at least. “His kid.”

He looked at her up and down. “You don’t look like his kid.”

“I took everything from my mother,” she lied easily. Her mother always told her she had her father’s eyes. “Is he here, or not?”

He didn’t say anything for a while, still studying her, before nodding. “Yeah, he’s here. Maybe got lost in the place. He’s pretty wasted.”

Oh, great. “Thanks.” She took a coin out of her pocket and handed it to him, before turning around to the room once more, still seeing nothing from Arthur, and decided to go to the second floor. She hoped he wasn’t in any room, that would be embarrassing for the both of them.

She climbed the stairs, still watching around her, and suddenly he was there, on the other side of the balcony, watching everyone like the eagle he was, despite probably being very unfocused, a beer in hand and elbows on the railing. She watched him for a long moment, the way he didn’t seem to be able to hold his own head straight, his shaking hands, his whole tired frame. She took a sharp breath in, feeling like it was her fault. Maybe it was both their fault.

Cassiopeia slowly walked to him, Arthur completely unaware of her presence even when she leaned on the fence next to him. She stayed there for a moment, listening to his breathing, before turning to him, determined to solve this out.

“You’re drunk,” she stated, starting with the obvious.

Arthur jumped, apparently more wasted than what she thought. “Lenny?” he let out – who was Lenny? - then turned to her, and his eyes widened. “Cass’?” There was a lot of hope in his voice and Cassiopeia felt her heart break.

But she couldn’t show it right away. “Hey,” she casually said, looking uninterested.

“What’re ya doin’ here?” He tried to take a step back and nearly fell, taking a tight hold of the railing.

“I’m honestly wondering the same thing.” She looked at him up and down. “You look awful.”

He frowned, looking a bit angry. “Didn’t com’here t’get roasted.”

“Yeah, you came here to get drunk. I don’t understand why.” Cassiopeia had an idea on the question, actually, but she wanted him to say it.

Arthur huffed, as if not believing her. “’Cause you left.”

“You told me to.”

“Didn’t mean it.”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

Arthur grunted, wavering a bit, before letting out a laugh so full of pain Cassiopeia wished she never heard it. He let go of the railing then, falling right in the wall behind them. She made a move to grab his arm, but he avoided her hand, his back hitting hard on the wood. He put a hand over his eyes, his shoulders shaking, and she knew it wasn’t from laughing.

“Arthur…” she started, feeling like she had gone too far.

“’m sorry,” he said in a hoarse voice, looking at her with tears in his eyes. “I know— I know ya can take care of yourself. I know it, you’re a capable kid, Cass’, but you— you scared me Cass’, ya always scare me, and I always worry ‘bout ya—” He let out another strange laugh. “I’m the paranoid kind. You shouldn’t stay with an old man like me—”

“Shut up!” she interrupted him, taking a step toward him, putting a hand on his arm. “Don’t say that! You’re not— You’re not old, Arthur. And I, I know you worry, I worry about you too, but— You taught me to be safe, and I’m always safe, I try to be, and if it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be dead by now.”

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to erase the tears, then looked back at her, something solemn in his blue gaze. “Me too, Cass’.”

She took a sharp breath, and it was her turn to cry. “I’m sorry I left. You—” It felt hard to breath, all of a sudden. She squeezed his arm. “You’re my Pa’, Arthur.” She felt the tears running down her cheeks, took another shivering deep breath, trying to get herself together but unable too, before finally launching herself at Arthur, hugging him with all her strength, burying her face on his chest, just like she used to when she was still nine. “I love you,” she whispered.

Cassiopeia heard Arthur’s bottle of beer fall to the floor and his arms were suddenly around her, squeezing her, holding her tight, a hand on her hair, the other rubbing at her back. “You’re mah baby, Cass’. I love you too,” he whispered back, kissing the top of her head, and just like that, everything was forgiven.

They hold each other for a long moment, the tune on the piano changing at least two times, but none of them cared. They both needed this.

Cassiopeia was the first one to let go, brushing a hand over her eyes to dry her tears away, seeing Arthur do the same from the corner of her eyes. She let out a laugh, feeling lighter than in the past few days.

Then she remembered Mary.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Language,” Arthur scolded her. She gave him a stern a look; she learned all of those words from him. He rolled his eyes, taking the hint. “What’s it?”

“I…” Damn, that would be harder than she thought. “I might have met someone, along the way. Someone you know.”

He rubbed both hands across his face, trying to push away the drunkenness. “Who?”

She fidgeted with her fingers. “Mary.”

The way he looked at her would have been very funny in other circumstances. “ _What?_ ”

“She’s outside,” Cassiopeia blurted out. “I found her by Strawberry, and she was—” She stopped, wondering if it was her place to tell what Mary was about to do, then opted for something else. “Her whole family is dead, and she thinks you’re dead too. Since _seven years._ ”

Arthur was looking at her with sharp eyes again, and she knew his mind was much clearer, despite all the alcohol. “Dead,” he repeated. He heaved a sigh, apparently not surprised, and Cassiopeia immediately got curious about what happened seven years ago. He rubbed at his face once more, before hitting his own cheeks several times. “A’right, lead the way.”

Cassiopeia rushed back to the first floor, hearing Arthur’s quick steps right behind her. But before heading straight to the door, she stopped at the bar again, the attention of the bartender immediately on her. “Give me a glass of water, please.” The man nodded, handing her a big one, and she gave it to Arthur when he stopped next to her. “Drink this.”

He took the glass, frowning at it, then at her. “Why?”

“Because you smell like whiskey.” He grunted, but did as he was told. And to Cassiopeia’s surprise, he even drank it all. “Wow.”

“Not a word,” he warned her, but his tone was playful, and she sarcastically chuckled. He put the glass on the bar, a coin beside it, and Cassiopeia finally got to the doors of the saloon.

When she reached them, she stopped again wondering what would be the best approach for them both. She turned to Arthur, who was watching her with his hands on his hips, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “Wait here a second,” she told him, and got out, holding the door open.

Mary was still on the bench outside, and she immediately got up when she saw Cassiopeia. Mary took a few steps toward her, hope in her eyes. “Did you…?” she didn’t finish her sentence.

Cassiopeia didn’t say anything, and just turned to Arthur, waiting with his shoulders stiff, incredibly tensed. He took a deep breath, adjusted his hat, and stepped outside. Cassiopeia took a step backward, leaving them enough space to meet again, after all those years.

“ _Oh, dear Lord_ .” Mary placed both hands over her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes. Her whole frame shuddered, legs buckling under her, as she suddenly let herself sink to the floor, sobbing, unable to tear her eyes away from Arthur. He was on her in a second, kneeling in front of her, gentle as ever, lightly grabbing her shoulders to steady her, but not saying anything. He probably couldn’t. “You’re alive,” Mary gasped. “You’re really alive. Oh, _Arthur—_ ” She fell in Arthur’s arms, and he looked lost on what to do for a second, before lightly patting her back.

Cassiopeia watched them for a moment, hovering in their periphery, wondering what she could do. In the end, she got closer to them, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, getting his attention. “I’m going to rent rooms in the hotel,” she told him. “It’s getting late, and we’ll all feel better after sleeping.” He agreed with a nod, focusing back on Mary, still sobbing in his arms.

Cassiopeia watched them a moment more, then headed to the building across the street. She stopped when she heard Arthur’s voice, full of sorrow.

“You’ll be fine, Mary,” he said softly. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Com’on Mary…”

She got into the hotel, leaving them completely alone, and rented two rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Althought I never played Red Dead 1, I tried to do The Strange Man justice with what I gathered about him. He's very fun to write  
> And in all honesty, Jamie Gillis might still be alive and no one knows! (maybe he's in Guarma, but wouldn't that be worse???)  
> Also, this chapter was originally much longer, but it was so much more than my usual lengh that I cut it in two


	7. To Heal

Cassiopeia woke up in the middle of the night, not exactly knowing why. Maybe because everything was so silent around her, so different from the multiple sounds she was used to. Maybe it was the moonlight falling on her face through the curtains.

Maybe it was because of Arthur, sitting on the side of the double bed, elbow on his knees, knuckles over his lips, eyes lost in the dark. She frowned at him, raising up under the blanket. “What’re you doing here?” she whispered, rubbing one eye and yawning.

Arthur turned to her, frowning too, but not surprised to see her awake. “Why?” he whispered back. “Did ya expect me to sleep with Mary?”

“Sort of.” She yawned again, and scooted to him, sitting crossed leg next to him.

“Ya should go back to sleep, Cass’.”

“With you staying up right there like an owl? No way, that’s creepy.” She leaned on him lightly, putting her head on his shoulder. “And you should sleep too, anyway.”

Arthur hummed, pressing her knee with a hand, and she closed her eyes, feeling comfortable enough to probably fall asleep on him. “Am thinkin’ too much.”

“About what?”

“’Bout Mary.”

“Why ain’t you with her, anyway?” She scratched her throat, straightening up a little, before leaning back on him. “Thought you were her ex-fiancé, or something.”

“She told you that?” He sounded scandalized.

“She did.”

“Damn woman,” he grunted, but he also sounded a bit amused. “T’was years ago. It ain’t like that anymore.”

She hummed at that. It wasn’t her business anyway. She opened her eyes again, eyes falling on a mirror in the corner of the room. She looked at the new scar she had on her forehead, above the first one, watched her even shorter hair, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes. She had changed a lot, since she was nine, but she liked what she looked like now. What living with Arthur had made of her.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, remembering the man’s shivering frame in the saloon. “About leaving.”

Arthur moved his hand from her knee to her opposite shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Am sorry too, kid. Shouldn’t have said any of that.”

“We both hurt each other, right?” She pushed herself on him a little more, seeking his comfort.

He held her there, rubbing her arm. “We did.”

“But we’re good now?”

He hummed, sounding happier, almost a chuckle. “Yeah, Cass’. We’re good.”

“Good,” she whispered, then yawned. She got out of his hold, rubbing at her eyes, and let herself fall on the bed, tugging at Arthur’s sleeve. “Sleep, now.”

Arthur really chuckled then, and pushed her on the other side, laying next to her. Cassiopeia snuggled against him, making herself comfortable on his chest, and he let her, hugging her loosely and kissed her hairline. They both fell asleep like that, happy to have each other back. 

***

Cassiopeia was tangled in the blanket and alone in bed when she woke up, sunlight falling on her face. She scrunched her face, turning it into the pillow, staying there for a while, before finally getting up. She had never been the type to stay in bed anyway.

After getting out of her pajamas and hopped into proper clothes – still red and black, her favorite colors – she got to Mary’s room, lightly knocking on the door. She heard the woman’s voice from inside, and opened up the door, finding Mary all alone, sitting at a table in the middle of the spacious room.

“Morning,” she smiled, closing the door behind her. “Arthur isn’t here?”

“Good morning,” answered Mary, a smile on her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. She had tied her hair in a tight bun, and Cassiopeia noticed some white strand among the brown. There was a smoking cup of tea in front of her, but it seemed untouched yet. “No, I didn’t see him yet.” Cassiopeia slowly walked to her, sitting on the chair next to hers. “It still all feels like a dream,” Mary sighed.

“I bet,” replied Cassiopeia, trying to keep her tone warm. “He probably got out to buy something or take care of the horse.”

Mary chuckled, the sound still a bit sad. “That sounds like him, yes.”

Cassiopeia leaned on the chair, studying Mary for a moment. Her eyes were lost in the tea, the mug cupped between her hands, and she seemed lost in her own mind. The picture of Mary at the edge of that cliff flashed before her eyes. “How are you feeling?” she carefully asked.

Mary’s eyes snapped at her, blinking in confusion, as if she had forgotten Cassiopeia was even here. “I’m fine,” she answered with her false smile, but that sounded like an automatic answer.

Cassiopeia sighed. Maybe she wasn’t the right person for that, after all. But how could she leave someone being hurt without at least trying? “Are you sure?”

Mary’s smile wavered, and her eyes fell on the cup once more. “No,” she finally said after a long time. “All of this is… It’s a lot.” She turned to Cassiopeia again, and this time, her smile felt real, even if sad. “But I won’t burden you with all of this. You’re a bit young to take my problems on your shoulders. Don’t worry about me, Cassiopeia.” She extended a hand on the table, reaching to her.

She looked at the hand, before covering it with hers. “Okay,” she whispered, voice a little tight. She really wanted to help Mary, but was kind of glad she didn’t had too

“Now,” Mary kept going, something more playful in her tone, “I’m curious about how you and Arthur met.”

“Oh.” Well, that would be an interesting story. “He found me in the wood covered in blood and I tried to stab him.”

***

“… and the whole show was great,” Mary laughed.

“And he stayed put during the whole time?” Cassiopeia couldn’t believe it.

“He did!” And she just laughed more.

“You two talking ‘bout me?” They turned at the same time to Arthur entering the room, squinting at them, and they just started to laugh again, Arthur grunting in the background as he came to sit with them, putting canned fruits on the table.

Cassiopeia gasped. “Is there peach?”

“ _Yes_ , there’s peach,” Arthur sighed, opening the can with his knife and handing it to her. “Thought food would do us all good.” He handed one to Mary, canned apples.

“And you thought well, Arthur,” she smiled, taking the can without second thoughts. They were probably her favorite.

“Mary was telling me about that time when you attempted a show in Saint Denis,” Cassiopeia explained with a grin, taking her own knife out and starting to eat the peaches. Damn, she really liked them.

Arthur opened canned strawberries for himself, and started to chew on one, eyes lost, trying to remember what Cassiopeia was talking about. “Oh, right,” he grunted. “T’was years ago, I don’t even remember the thing.”

“It was seven years ago,” Mary pointed out.

Arthur and Cassiopeia both looked up at her, because her tone suddenly changed, no emotion in it, and her eyes were staring at the wooden table, unseeing. Cassiopeia heard Arthur heaved a deep sigh, and saw him reach out to Mary, slowly putting a hand on her arm. She jumped, yanked back into reality by the simple touch, and her eyes flew to Arthur, blinking, then squinted. “Arthur?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered in a gentle voice. “I’m here, Mary.” He squeezed her arm, and her other hand fell on his, squeezing back. “Am sorry to ask,” he kept going. “But I need to know who told you ‘bout my death.”

“Your death,” Mary repeated, frowning, before nodding. “It was… He said he was one of your friends. He told me he built you a grave on a mountain, facing the evening sun.”

Something closed in Arthur’s expression, but Cassiopeia knew him well enough to know that it meant something very important to him. “What’s his name?”

Mary frowned, eyes drifting away, trying to remember. “I think… I think it was Charles.”

Cassiopeia saw something terrible appear in Arthur’s gaze as he covered his mouth in shock. She remembered the piece of art in Arthur’s journal, the care he took to recreate Charles on the page, the whole affection behind this simple drawing. She knew Arthur cared about him dearly. And that man had buried him, apparently following his last wish, and cared about Arthur enough to warn the last person he loved. How awful could that be to Arthur, to know that Charles thought he was dead?

Mary looked at him and saw the same things, the same feeling storming inside of him, and she squeezed his hand a little stronger. “Arthur,” she called in a voice very soft and kind. “What happened?”

Arthur closed his eyes for a long second, putting his hand over Mary’s, before opening them again, turning to Cassiopeia. She knew what he was about to ask.

“Cass’,” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.

“I’ll go take care of Prince,” she nodded, smiling sadly, and stood up. “Maybe I’ll take Artemis on a ride, too.”

He smiled too, the grin reaching his eyes, and he ruffled her hair a little, before shoving her away lightly. “She needs it. Thanks, kid.”

She took his hand, squeezed it, and got out of the room, leaving them to a very long conversation.

***

Cassiopeia had taken both Prince and Artemis with her, going for a long ride in the hills surrounding the town, stopping at the highest to watch the landscape covered in snow. She had spotted bison through her binoculars, far away in the land. She had watched them for a long time, hypnotized by them, then got yanked back to reality by Artemis pulling on her reins, apparently wanting to go somewhere else. Cassiopeia had let the mare lead them in the snow, from bushes to bushes, the two horses eating lazily as she let herself enjoy the present, not thinking about anything.

Then, they had found a nice place, not too far away from Valentine, a clearing hidden behind thick pine trees, far enough from the road to be peaceful, but not too far for it to be hard to find. She was now sitting on a tree’s root, the horses peacefully playing together in her back, empty journal in hand. She had bought it in the grocery store just before leaving the town, the thing calling to her, along with a pencil. She didn’t really know what she wanted to do with it.

Cassiopeia always wondered what were Arthur’s thoughts, every time he wrote in his journal. How he managed to find the right words for himself, and what thing to draw had always been a mystery to her. And yet, she wanted to put her thoughts somewhere, too. But no word was coming to her.

“Damnit,” she whispered to herself, eyes going to the sky. Tiny snowflakes were coming down around her, protected by the tree’s branches, surrounding her with silence. She always liked the snow, despite being born in August. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs, and breathed out slowly, watching the cloud coming from her nose being dispersed by the wind.

Prince made a low sound behind her, and she turned around, seeing both he and Artemis pressed to each other, eating a patch of grass exhumed from the snow. She smiled at them; they were easy to understand, in a way humans were very much more complex. They had simple needs and simple thoughts, but they also understood humans in a way other people seemed unable to. Cassiopeia watched them eat for a long moment, before turning back to the empty page of her journal.

She didn’t write anything, in the end. She only tried to do justice to their companions, probably failing, but she didn’t really care. She loved them, and that was the most important part.

“This is a nice place,” suddenly came a deep and soft voice behind, making her jump.

Cassiopeia turned around, hand flying to her gun, but was only greeted by the sigh of the stranger, still in his city suit, slowly walking to her. Prince lifted his head to him, almost a greeting, before going back to eat.

“You scared me,” she reproached, going back to her drawing. This was very soothing; she understood why Arthur was doing it so much. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“And yet, here I am.” He got closer to her, sitting beside her. She looked up to him, expecting the man to watch what she was doing, but he was looking in front of him, something looking like a small smile on his face, but not exactly. “You helped my friend,” he said, his voice sounding solemn.

“It was Mary, right? I figured.” She turned back to what she was doing, half acknowledging the stranger’s presence. “Of course I helped her.”

The man hummed, and she wasn’t sure if he was agreeing or not. “And you helped your father too.”

The pen stopped over the page, Cassiopeia frowning. He really had a weird way of saying things. “You’re a strange man.” Even if he wasn’t exactly a man anyway. She was tempted to ask him what he really was, but he would surely answer her with something even stranger.

A long silence stretched between them, only interrupted by the noise of the pen on the paper and the sounds of the horses, the snow falling around them quietly. Cassiopeia managed to end her drawing, and looked at the finished product with pride. It wasn’t perfect, but she still liked it. Arthur always told her that the best way to do something was to actually start it. And she wasn’t going to stop.

“Tell me, Cassiopeia,” the stranger said. She closed her journal, tucking it away in her satchel, and turned to him, eyes locking with his. “What are your thoughts on family?”

What a strange question. Cassiopeia studied him for a moment, not getting lost in the grey this time, then turned away, watching Artemis and Prince. The mare was watching a little blue jay flying from tree to tree, and Prince was half asleep, one leg hovering just above the ground, his weight on the other three.

“I don’t know,” she finally answered. “I think…” She turned back to the man, who was watching her with attention. “I think it’s important. To have one.” She shrugged, looked at her own hands, fingers red with the cold, a scar running on the side of her left hand. “Even when it’s not easy.” _Especially when it’s not easy_ , she thought.

Cassiopeia stood up then, brushing the snow from her pants. “I should get back to mine. My father needs me.”

She looked up at the man, standing with her, and he really smiled at her then. “He sure did.” She smiled back.

“Until we meet again,” she said, turning her back to him, walking to the horses. When she looked over her shoulder to see him one last time, the stranger had vanished.

***

When she got back to the hotel, Arthur and Mary were just going out of the building, Mary’s arm hooked on Arthur’s. None of them were smiling, but something in the way they hold each other felt more natural, more relaxed. They both spotted her on the street at the same time, and Mary waved at her, a happy light in her eyes, and Cassiopeia stopped beside them, tying the horses reins to the same pole.

“Nice ride?” Arthur asked, voice deep and warm, making her smile.

“Great ride,” she answered. “I saw bison.”

Arthur nodded, finally smiling. “Was leadin’ Mary to the train station. You comin’ with us?”

That sounded like a strange plan. “Sure,” she answered, and she followed them, wondering what was happening. Was Mary leaving them already?

The way to the train station happened in silence as they walked through the snow. The street was mostly empty, everyone shying away from the cold, much more comfortable in the warmth of their house, but there was still a paperboy selling the newspaper of the place, or homeless people asking for money. When they reached the train station, Cassiopeia spotted a veteran near the place, missing an arm, looking very cold under a wooden roof, seated right onto the ground, a hat in front of him. She watched him as they entered the place, and decided that she’ll give him something when they’ll be done.

Cassiopeia heard Arthur bought one ticket for Annesburg, a mining town on the far east of the country, and frowned, not understanding why Mary would go there.

“The train’ll be here soon,” Arthur said, leading Mary to one of the benches. “You remember what I told ya?” He sat beside her, holding her a letter. Mary nodded, holding the thing for a moment, before putting it inside her white coat.

Cassiopeia stayed up beside them, not sure of what was actually happening.

“Are you sure she’ll help me?” she asked, voice unsure.

“Yes,” Arthur answered. “Charlotte’s a great woman, and I’ve no doubt that she still lives there. She’ll welcome you with open arms.” He patted her knee lightly, trying to catch her drifting gaze. “Give her this letter. I explained everythin’ in it.”

Mary looked up at him, something like fear in her eyes. “Everything?”

“Everythin’ she needs to know,” Arthur admitted, rubbing her thigh. “You’ll tell the rest, if you want to.”

Mary took a deep, shivering breath, and nodded again, turning to the station, the train coming in with a loud whistle. She stood up next to Cassiopeia, and she suddenly felt the need to grab her hand, to hold her once more before she left. She reached to her with cold fingers, loosely taking Mary’s hand in her, the woman focusing on her. Cassiopeia smiled, and Mary smiled back, something bitter sweet in it.

“I’m glad I met you,” Cassiopeia said in an earnest voice.

“Me too, Cassiopeia,” replied Mary warmly, taking her hand with both of hers, holding tightly. “Take great care of Arthur for me, will you?”

“Sure, if he let me,” she chuckled. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again, Mary.”

That was probably the right thing to say, because her smile brightened. Cassiopeia turned to Arthur, and he was smiling too, even if it looked a little sadder than Mary’s.

They both waved at her when the train finally started to go, and she waved back. They watched the train disappear into the distance, and Cassiopeia really hoped that she'd be fine, in the end.

“Couldn’t she stay with us?” she asked, turning to Arthur.

“Nah,” he answered. “This life doesn’t suit her. Besides, she needed someone to help her, and none of us could. You’re too young and I know her too well.”

Cassiopeia nodded, understanding what he meant. “Who’s Charlotte?”

“A friend of mine.” He smiled at that, something much warmer than the previous one. “Helped her, a long time ago. She helped me too, actually.” She knew there was a story here, but like every time, Arthur wouldn’t share it. She knew many names from his previous life as an outlaw by now, but only a bit of information about all of them. She doubted that one day she’ll have all the puzzle pieces, but she was fine with that. It didn’t stop her from really knowing Arthur.

“Hey, do you think we can give something to the veteran, outside?” she asked as they headed to the station's gate.

“Mickey? Yeah, sure, the fella needs it.”

Cassiopeia blinked. “What, you know him?”

“We talked, at some point. He’s pretty talkative, since no one talk to him anyway.”

They stopped by Mickey outside, giving a bit of money and food, and Cassiopeia insisted on listening to him for a bit. When she turned to Arthur once they said their farewell, there was pride in his eyes, and she felt herself blush under his gaze. He chuckled, ruffling her hair a bit, and shoved her away, making her laugh.

“Hey, Arthur,” she said once they reached their horses. “Did you find anything about John, here?”

Arthur patted Artemis’ neck, giving her a carrot. Prince sniffed at it with envy, and Cassiopeia rolled her eyes, giving him a sugar cub. “Not much,” Arthur answered. “Jus’ like always. But he’s probably not around with that name, having a price on his head and all.” He sighed. “It’ll be harder.”

Cassiopeia watched him, then mounted on Prince. “I’m sure we’ll find him,” she smiled at him, confident in a way she hadn’t felt since she had left him.

He got on Artemis, then looked at her, studying her for a second, before grinning, maybe feeling the same. “Yeah.”

They spurred their horses, going back on their quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte is a therapist now, and I may or may not ship her with Mary  
> I also made a picrew of Cass' and added her scars (I did my best with the bite scar, but I'm not an artist, so it's probably not accurate)  
> 


	8. To Find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a small Panic Attack

Arthur and Cassiopeia stopped their horses at the top of a hill, taking in the landscape. A great lake was stretching in front of them, so big it was hard to see the other side, boats and ferries silently gliding on its water. A train whistled in the background, arriving into the city, next by the lake, with big buildings and paved roads, the place surrounded by dry lands, the grass barely green under the hot sun.

“Can’t believe I’m back in Blackwater, of all places,” Arthur grunted.

“Well, at least it’s warmer around here,” Cassiopeia objected, trying to be positive. The whole city seemed way too civilized for her, but they were finally escaping the cold lingering during April, finding spring back.

“I hope no one recognize me,” he mumbled, spurring Artemis forward.

Cassiopeia did the same with Prince, getting next to Arthur. “Didn’t you say you changed since then?”

“Yeah, got older,” he laughed, the sound a bit bitter.

“You’re forty-three, it’s not that old,” she scolded him, trying to kick him, but he dodged her foot, kicking her back.

“Say the eleven years old,” he smirked.

“I’ll be twelve soon!”

“In four months!”

“That’s still soon.”

“Whatever ya say, kid,” Arthur laughed and Cassiopeia could only groan at him as they arrived into Blackwater, their horses’ hooves echoing on the stone ground. “A’right, I’ll go to the saloon, and you go see if we got any mail.” He rummaged through his satchel, handing her a bit of money. She took it, counting the dollars “Buy the horses some supplies too.”

“Sure,” Cassiopeia replied, tucking the cash away. “Let’s meet back at the store,” she added, turning on another street, waving at Arthur. He nodded, smiling, then disappeared behind the buildings, leaving her alone.

Since Mary and them parted away, they took the habit of checking their mail in every town, waiting for every letter from her. The first one came two months back, only telling them that she had reached Charlotte, who was also sending her greetings, but Mary didn’t added much in it. At least it had eased Arthur worries, who had even more trouble sleeping than usual.

“Hi, sir,” she said to the clerk, the man looking very bored. He looked up at her after a few seconds, annoying Cassiopeia. “Do you have any mail for Elliott Kilgore?” That was the name Arthur gave to Mary, since she clearly couldn’t send anything to him directly, and he didn’t even think to use Cassiopeia’s, the idiot.

“Huuuum.” Cassiopeia really wanted to hit that man. “Let me check… Yes, there’s one letter for you,” he said, handing her the paper.

She snatched it out of him, barely thanking him before opening it up, Mary’s nice handwriting stretching on the sheet.

_My dear Arthur and Cassiopeia,_

_I know my last letter was a short one, and that it didn’t give enough to ease your minds, but my own head wasn’t a nice place to be in this moment and I wanted to spare you the trouble._

_Arthur, you were right; Charlotte is a wonderful person. She told me what you did to help her, and I can’t tell you how proud I am to know a man like you, Arthur. I’m starting to realize that, finally, the giant lost against you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see it sooner. But I know by now that your heart doesn’t belong to me anymore, nor mine to you._

_Charlotte is kind enough to teach me everything you taught her, and I never thought that it would clear my head so much. I finally feel like living again, most of the days. Oh, Arthur, will believe me if I tell you I skinned a rabbit? Even to me, it sounds unbelievable, but I really did it._

_You should visit us one day, both of you. Charlotte would be very pleased to meet you, Cassiopeia, and I’m sure you would like her and the way she lives._

_Yours,_

_Mary._

_PS: Charlotte wants me to tell you that she killed a grizzly a few years back, and that it’s all thanks to you, Arthur._

A grizzly? Was Charlotte a war machine? Those beasts were the most aggressive and frightening bear Cassiopeia ever saw and the best thing to do was to avoid them. Mary was sure to be protected, with such a woman by her side.

Nonetheless, Cassiopeia was glad to hear that Mary was doing well. It didn’t seem to be easy every day, but she was trying to be better, and that was what mattered the most. She tucked the letter away, her heart feeling light, and finally left the post office, going to the grocery store.

The place was pretty strange – there was a stuffed wolf by the window, who put that into their store? – and the man was eyeing her suspiciously as she took fruits and vegetables from the shelves. He probably thought she was going to steal everything, since she was a kid and alone, because he made a surprised sound when she gave him the right amount of money for everything. He even counted twice.

Once outside, Cassiopeia gave an apple to Prince, which ate it with pleasure, and started to peel a peach for herself, leaning on a pole next to the store, waiting for Arthur, probably in the saloon on the other side. She tensed when she heard a dog’s bark, but the sound was far enough for her to relax soon after. When Prince finished his apple, he turned his big head to her, smelling the peach, and she gave him a bit, smiling as she petted his nose.

She turned to the street, watching the people walking around her; ladies with nice dresses and feathered hats, gentlemen with proper suits and fancy walking cane they didn’t need, either walking with the ladies as if they owned them, or in packs as if they owned the whole world. Among all of them were more simple people, couples with kids, groups of men laughing together, travelers on their horses, hard workers taking a well-deserved break. It was strange, seeing so many different persons living around each other without acknowledging their presences. It was also amusing in a way, because no one acknowledged Cassiopeia either, allowing her to spy on everyone’s life for a short moment.

A loud crash suddenly echoed on every walls, making her jump three feet into the air as a wagon suddenly fell right onto the paved ground, one of its wheels getting off the frame, rolling all by itself on the street. Cassiopeia stopped it as it passed in front of her, grabbing it with both hands, confused on what to do with it now.

“Damn fucking cart,” grumbled the driver, getting down of the thing to inspect the damaged done. The man was only wearing a grey shirt along with black suspenders, an ugly grey cap on his head, covering part of his short black hair. He kicked the wood of the vehicle, clearly annoyed. “You damn thing!”

Cassiopeia sighed, wheel still in hand, and started to roll it back to the wagon, being careful to not break it more. “You need some help, sir?” she asked once she reached him.

He half turned to her, revealing a well-kept black beard, dark blue eyes, and Cassiopeia thought she saw a light scar across his nose, but couldn’t be sure. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he mumbled, voice hoarse but sounding unsure, studying her a little. “You feeling strong enough to lift it?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, not entirely sure that she’ll be able to do it but willing to try. She rolled the wheel in front of the frame, her back facing the street, and waited for the man to lift the cart a bit for her to put the wheel in its right place.

“Alright, on three,” he said, Cassiopeia grabbing spokes, ready. “One… two… three!”

He quickly lifted the whole frame, and Cassiopeia would have been impressed if she didn’t have to do the same thing. The wheel was heavy, and to place it in the right place was harder than she thought, but she managed it on the second try, pushing it far enough so it won’t fall right again.

They were both panting once they let go, the whole thing creaking under its own weight. The man patted the horse pulling it, rubbing his back in a soothing way, calming the animal. “Good boy,” he purred, his hoarse voice suddenly very soft. “Thank you, kid,” he added, turning to her, smiling.

“You’re—” she started, about to say  _ welcome _ , but the word died on her lips, as she realized who she had been talking to. The man had scars on his face. Scars made by wolves.

“John Marston,” she let out in a breath, unable to stop the name.

The man’s eyes suddenly widened. “What did you jus’ say?”

There was a threatening note in his voice, but she ignored it. “You’re John Marston,” she answered, pointing at him.

She didn’t expect to be slammed onto the side of the wagon, both of John’s hands grabbing her collar, half choking her. She grabbed his wrist, trying to ease his hold, but he only tightened it, pushing her hard on the wood. “Where did you see my face?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “On a poster? In the news?  _ Where? _ ”

Cassiopeia would have answered if her visions hadn’t suddenly clouded and dread hadn’t taken a hold over her heart. The blood rushing in her ears covered the rest of the noises around them and she tried to take a deep breath, to calm herself down, trying to remember that she wasn’t in the middle of a forest with her knife in hand, a body crushing over her, blood on her face, its copper smell surrounding her—

She abruptly focused back on reality as she heard the clicking sound of a gun ready to fire, followed by Arthur’s deep and angry voice, “You better let go of the kid, or I’ll scatter your brain on the pavement.” She wanted to stop him, because this was John, they had finally found him, but she was frozen in place, unable to move, her heart hammering loudly in her chest and her breaths getting quicker and quicker.

The hands around her collar finally let go, and she let herself sink to the floor, her legs feeling like jelly. She grabbed the first real thing she felt around her, a patch of sand brought in the city by the wind, and she focused on the sensation of it on her fingers, the grain falling all around them, crushing it against her palm. Arthur’s face appeared in front of her, and her eyes snapped to his, focusing on the blue dotted with green, one of his hands falling on her shoulder, grounding her into reality, the other one still holding his gun. She took a hold of his shirt’s sleeves, breathing a shaking breath, and tried to get words out, but her throat closed on itself, stopping them. She closed her mouth, closed her eyes, and shook her head, letting it fall on Arthur’s chest, taking in his familiar scent, something close to pine, mixed with wet earth, feeling like rain, and his arm passed through her shoulders, holding her against him, rubbing her back.

Cassiopeia knew they stayed like that for a long moment, and briefly wondered what John was doing in the meantime. His cart was still on her back, but maybe he had run away, going to hide from whoever had recognized him. Arthur didn’t say a word while she recovered and she was pretty sure he didn’t know he had threatened his own brother.

When her breaths finally eased, she pushed herself out of his hold and looked around them, spotting John hovering over them, a look of pure confusion in his eyes, fists clenching and unclenching, probably wondering what was happening. She huffed a small laugh at this mess of a situation, and looked back at Arthur, soothing his worried look with a smile. “Found him,” she said, voice strained.

Arthur blinked at her, frowned, and turned around. The utter surprise appearing on his face would have made her burst out of laughter if she wasn’t so emotionally exhausted. “John?!”

“Arthur?” John replied. He took a step forward but immediately backed away. “That you?”

Arthur patted Cassiopeia’s shoulder, glancing one last time at her, before standing up,holstering his gun. He closed the distance between them, clasping John’s arms, making him jump. “Of course it’s me, you moron!” he answered, laughing loudly.

“Y-You— You’re alive,” John stuttered, steadying himself by grabbing Arthur's shoulder. “You— I— How?”

“Don’t worry, Marston, there’ll be time for explanation later,” Arthur warmly said. Cassiopeia slowly stood up, holding the side of the cart to not fall on the floor again. “Com’here, you dumbass,” he added, suddenly embracing John.

John first stood there, doing nothing, a look of complete bewilderment on his face, before slowly hugging Arthur back, tears forming in his eyes. “Holy shit, brother,” he whispered. “You— If I knew, I— I would’ve come back, Arthur, I would—”

Arthur let go of him, lightly patting John’s cheek as if he was a kid. “I know, John,” he retorted, still smiling. “I know. Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’m glad I found ya back.”

Cassiopeia thought it was time to make herself known. “Say the man who was about to ‘scatter his brain on the pavement’,” she joked, quoting Arthur with her fingers, getting next to him.

He turned to her, concern in his gaze. “How ya feelin’, Cass’?”

She rubbed at her collarbones, still feeling John’s fist on her. “I’ll live,” she shrugged. Her legs were still a bit wobbly and her heart was still beating a bit too fast, but she’ll be fine. The worst of the crisis was behind them. She turned to John, extending a hand, smiling. “I’m Cassiopeia, nice to meet you.”

He took it, shaking her hand firmly, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry ‘bout… that,” he said, waving in her general direction. “Couldn’t guess you was with Arthur there,” he added, glancing at his brother and raising an eyebrow in a silent question, probably wondering  _ why _ she was with him in the first place.

“I’ll tell ya everything,” started Arthur, raising both of his hands, “but not in the middle of the street.”

“Sure,” nodded John. “Was heading back home anyway.”

Cassiopeia made a face; living in a house seemed terrible to her. But Arthur only laughed, smacking John’s shoulder once more, a proud light in his eyes.

As they headed onto the road, John back on his wagon, and Arthur and Cassiopeia both on their horses, John explained what he did during the last few months. He told them about Pronghorn Ranch and how he worked as a rancher there – near Strawberry, nonetheless, they could have run in him even sooner if they had stayed in this part of the country. He told them about Jack and Abigail leaving him, Abigail not trusting him to live a fair life, far away from gunfights and death, how he wanted to prove her wrong by buying Beecher’s Hope.

“Wasn’t much of a place, at first,” he admitted with a snort. “But I’ve bought one of those in kit house, or whatever it’s called, thanks to Uncle finding about it.”

“Uncle?” interrupted Arthur, shock all over his face. “That bastard alive?”

“Who’s Uncle?” Cassiopeia asked, curious.

“A useless ol’ man, that’s what he is.”

“And a lazy one, at that. He keeps telling he has ‘terminal lumbago’.”

Cassiopeia squinted at John. “That’s a thing?”

“No”, they answered at the same time.

“Here we are,” John suddenly said, making them looking forward. “Welcome home.”

The house was enormous, way too big for just one family, in her sense, but it was a pretty one. All this wood, the huge porch, all in the middle of this arid land, there was something very nice about it. There was a campfire on the side, surrounded by trunks and wooden boxes for chairs, and a tent not far away from it. Cassiopeia guessed that, even if the house was built, it was still very empty. Arthur let out an impressed whistle as they slowly walked to the house.

“Quite the place, uh?” said John, pride in his voice.

“Indeed,” Arthur admitted. “How did ya manage to built this up with just Uncle aroun’?”

“Uncle didn’t help, but Charles did.”

Artemis stopped beside Prince, and Cassiopeia looked up just in time to see dread appear on Arthur’s face, the emotion quickly hidden behind a frown. His eyes still shined with fear and apprehension. “Charles’s here?” he asked in a low voice, and Cassiopeia wondered if she really heard it tremble or not.

John stopped the wagon, turning to Arthur with a frown, proving she heard right, but his expression changed to something like realization. “Yeah,” he finally answered after a few seconds. “He— Yes, he’s here.”

Cassiopeia watched Arthur as he cursed under his breath, and she made Prince move closer, extending a hand to him. He looked at it first, then at her, and she only smiled softly, leaving her hand between them. He heaved a deep sigh, and lightly took it, pressing their palm together. “It’ll be fine,” she breathed, trying to share her own confidence with him.

Arthur squeezed her hand for a moment, before letting go, straightening himself on Artemis’ back. “It’ll be fine,” he echoed.

They spurred their horses, ready to reach the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite John FINALLY being here, nothing much happen in this chapter, but it gotta be like that sometimes  
> I also forgot there was actually no train station in Blackwater, but I didn't had the heart to remove the tiny detail


	9. To Come Home

Arthur and Cassiopeia had hitched their horses to a small fence next to the house, John leading the cart on the side of the place. Arthur was the first one on the ground, eyes darting across the wooden building, taking his journals out. Cassiopeia stayed on Prince, watching him put the house on the paper along with his mind, probably clearing his own thoughts, before her eyes caught John walking back to them, someone on his heels.

The man was old, with a grey beard and grey hair hidden under an old looking hat. His eyes were half closed, looking at the ground as he was following John. “I still don’t get why you took me out of my sleep,” he said, rubbing at the back of his head and scratching at his chest, still clearly half asleep.

“You’d understand if you’d open your eyes, you lazy bastard,” John retorted, a wide smile on his face.

Arthur looked up from his journal when he heard their voice, and Cassiopeia saw his face crack in a grin. “So you are alive!” he let out, being loud on purpose, half laughing.

Uncle’s head snapped up at the voice, suddenly very awake, and his eyes fell on Arthur, wide and genuinely surprised. His mouth opened, jaw hanging low, and he turned to John, who was watching him with his hand on his hips, still smiling. His mouth closed, teeth making a loud noise in the silence surrounding them, and he turned to Arthur again.

“Arthur Morgan,” he said in a breath, barely audible.

“The very same,” Arthur answered, tucking his journal away. He tucked one thumb on his belt and flicked his hat a little to have a better view of the man. Cassiopeia snorted at his acting, as if he really was like that in his everyday life.

“You’re alive!” Uncle yelled, quickly reaching Arthur and putting his hands on his shoulders. He almost shrunk back under it, but stayed put, allowing the old man to be touchy. “John said you were dead, sacrificed yourself on that goddamn mountain!”

Cassiopeia arched an eyebrow; she wasn’t aware of this part of the story.

Arthur huffed a laugh. “Well, it ain’t far from the truth,” he admitted, taking a step back, away from Uncle’s touch. He wasn’t exactly the tactical kind, except with her.

“That’s amazing! First Sadie, then Charles, and now you? Ain’t that great!” Uncle laughed loudly, slapping his own chest with happiness.

“Sadie’s alive?” Arthur asked, his voice taking a high note in surprise. “Ya didn’t tell me, Marston!”

“Surviving, I’d say, but that’s jus’ Sadie, I guess,” John replied, joining them.

“And who might you be?” Uncle interrupted them, eyes on Cassiopeia.

She grinned, finally dismounting Prince, getting closer and placing herself next to Arthur. Uncle was watching her with a hand on his beard, studying, his eyes lingering on her scars.

“This is Cass’,” Arthur said, squeezing her opposite shoulder, half dragging her to his chest.

“Cassiopeia,” she corrected.

“Quite the name,” Uncle hummed.

“Better than ‘Uncle’,” she retorted with a smirk.

“Oh, the kid bites!” he laughed heatedly, then turned back to Arthur. “Sounds just like you!”

“Learnt from the best,” Cassiopeia said, glancing at Arthur with a smile. He chuckled, patting her shoulder, before letting go of it, but she didn’t move from her spot. John’s and Uncle’s eyes were still on her, and she was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable under their gazes.

“You seem very happy, Arthur,” Uncle suddenly said, voice solemn, and they all turned to the said man. Cassiopeia chuckled when she saw his cheek getting slightly pink. “Happier than the last time I saw you.”

Arthur cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. He scratched his beard and adjusted his hat, then crossed his arms on his chest. “T’s not that hard, honestly,” he replied. “Wasn’t happy times.”

“I guess not,” conceded Uncle, a sad smile appearing on his face. “But no need to think about all that, now,” he said then, lightening the mood. He hit John on his chest, startling him. “Let’s show you the house! We all worked hard on it!”

“ _We_?” John sounded scandalized. “You didn’t do anything!”

“Speaking of it, where’s Charles?” Arthur asked. He sounded casual, but Cassiopeia heard the edge on his voice. She elbowed him in the ribs, and he gave her an offended look.

“Oh, he’s gone hunting, you know how he is,” Uncle answered, going to the porch. “Come one now!”

John sighed, but he was smiling as he watched the man get into the house. He was the first one to follow, leaving Arthur and Cassiopeia alone with the horses. She glanced at Arthur, seeing him taking a deep breath, and she elbowed him again, harder this time, startling him.

“Will you stop that?” he growled, getting away from her.

“Gotta put you out of your misery,” she grinned, going to the house. Arthur groaned, the sound exaggerated, and followed her.

***

The house was as big as Cassiopeia had thought it would be, along with being very much empty. They had stored things inside, such as tools or old blankets they had apparently gathered somewhere, along with wooden boxes, and Cassiopeia was really curious to know what was inside.

Still, when they got out again, she was glad to feel the sun on her face, warming her already tanned skin. The three men were talking among themselves in her back, staying on the porch, and she didn’t listen to them, focusing for a moment on the birds chirping around and the breeze blowing in the trees. She closed her eyes, taking her time to feel here, right in this moment, no past and no future, just her own thoughts drifting slowly in her mind.

She opened them back when she heard footsteps getting near her, and she turned around, meeting Arthur's soft smile, hands hooked on his belt. “They seem nice,” she said, pointing with her head at John and Uncle going to the campfire. “John has as much scar as me,” she added, chuckling.

“You sure do,” Arthur chuckled back, pushing her hat on her eyes.

She pushed it back, lightly laughing, and noticed a leathered book in his hands. “What’s this?”

He lifted up the book, watching it with something like fondness in his eyes. “My ol’ journal.”

Cassiopeia eyes widened slightly. “Did John have it?”

“Yeah.” He handed it to her. “It’s yours now.”

She glanced at the journal, then at Arthur, confused. “I already have mine.”

“I know,” he said, voice soft. “And John wrote in this one anyway. I want ya to read it.”

She huffed a laugh, skeptical, taking a step backward, away from the book. “Not a chance.”

“Ya always want to know what happened,” he claimed. “There’s a big part of the story in this. If you wanna read it, you can.”

Cassiopeia shook her head, crossing her arms, stubbornly frowning. “No,” she asserted. “I don’t need to read this to know you. I—” She clicked her tongue, trying to find the right words, annoyed with herself. “I’m curious, yes, but this is your privacy, and I won’t get into it.” She sighed loudly, kicking a rock on the floor. “I promised that years ago,” she whispered in the end, remembering the first and only time she opened Arthur’s journal.

Arthur sighed back, studying her features. “I know,” he said again. “Still want ya to have it. You don’t have to read it, though.”

Cassiopeia groaned. “Why must you be so stubborn?” She rubbed at her face, conflicted with her own moral and her love for Arthur. The latter won in the end. “Alright, I’ll take it!” she growled, snatching the book out of his hand. She immediately tucked it in her satchel, determined to never open it. “Happy, now?”

“Very,” he grinned, flicking at her hat, making it fall on the floor.

She gaped at him, half offended and half laughing, and decided that his hathat – a different one with an old rope around it, looking very worn - needed to fall on the sandy floor and get dirty as much as hers. He probably saw something in her eyes because his stance changed just before she launched herself at him, trying to get a hold of the thing, and he dodged her easily, laughing. But she was ready, landing on only one foot, extending her hand as far as she could, and took the black hat off of his head, putting it on herself, not fitting her. She grinned wildly at Arthur’s surprise and started to run away.

“Get back here!” he called, running after her.

“Make me!” she answered, sprinting as fast as she could.

Cassiopeia was fast, faster than many eleven years old – being very tall certainly had its convenience – but Arthur was still taller than her, so he was definitely going to catch her in the end. That’s why she ran straight to a tree, climbing it as fast as she could and getting on the highest branch. When Arthur got to it, she let the hat fall to the ground, staining the dark leather.

“You’re a terrible child, you know that?” he growled with a laugh, grabbing it. He polished it for a moment before putting it back on his head, looking up at her.

John and Uncle were laughing in the background, and Cassiopeia stuck her tongue to him, smirking. “You started it, old man.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing, now get down before hurtin’ yourself, you monkey.”

Cassiopeia stretched on the big branch, very much comfortable and out of Arthur’s range. “I feel fine here,” she said in a sarcastic tone.

“Com’on Cass’,” he groaned, and she recognized the seriousness in his voice. “You’ll break your neck if you fall.”

She sighed, feeling perfectly safe, but finally got down, landing next to Arthur. He sighed back, sounding relieved, and ruffled her hair, smiling a bit. She shoved his hand away, chuckling, and left him here, going back to her hat still in the sand. She heard his steps going to John, the man apparently making fun of him, but his voice quickly drifted away as she reached her belonging.

She took the white hat from the floor, the fabric turned orange by the sand. She tried to brush most of it with her sleeve, but she knew it won’t be enough; she’ll have to properly wash it. She should probably buy another one, with how old and used this one was, but she couldn’t put her mind to it. It was the first thing Arthur bought her, after all. She put it back onto her head, the cloth fitting perfectly around her skull and she smiled at herself, rubbing its edge, raising old memories back.

“Who the heck are you?” suddenly came a voice on her back, making her jump. A voice soft and very deep, deeper than Arthur or the stranger, reminding her of a growl.

Cassiopeia turned around in one motion, and took a sharp breath in, finding herself face to face with Charles.

He wasn’t exactly like in Arthur’s journal, time marking its change on him, and yet he was exactly the same. His hair was untied and he had feathers tucked in it, balanced on the right side of his face. He had hard features, but it still seemed gentle in a strange way, as if softness was hidden behind his deep frown and his scars. Yet, with how built he was, she knew that, despite how gentle he could be, he could also be very dangerous. Everything about him felt strong, stronger than anyone she ever met. The way he was carrying the corpse of a doe on his shoulder, blood dripping on the floor, was even more proof of that.

For a second, she got stuck, unable to say anything to the man staring at her with dark brown eyes, feeling like he was actually looking at her soul. Then his frown deepened, power suddenly radiating from him, and she took a step backward, feeling like she was in front of a predator.

A wolf.

“I’m—uh—I—” she stuttered inefficiently. She grabbed the edge of her hat, anchoring herself into reality. “Pa’!” she called Arthur, the word slipping off her tongue, focusing on the voice of the three other men.

“What?” Arthur called back, the conversation stopping. Charles’ eyes snapped to them in an instant, an incredulous look appearing in them. He let go of the doe, letting it fall loudly on the floor.

A heavy silence fell on them all, only broken by the wind and the birds.

“Heck,” whispered John, the word loud and clear to them all.

Cassiopeia would have smacked him if she didn’t feel paralyzed.

“John,” Charles started, a hard edge to his voice. “Who are they?”

“Uh, that’s—” John stopped, and Cassiopeia finally turned to them. He was looking at Arthur, who seemed to have been struck by lightning. He was half turned to Charles, eyes locked on him, mouth in a thin, pale line. There was a terrified light in his eyes, and she hated it.

“That’s Arthur,” she said, turning back to Charles, her mind set.

“Bullshit,” he immediately replied, eyes darting to her then back at Arthur. Someone took a sharp breath behind her. “Arthur’s dead.” He seemed resolved and sure of himself, but Cassiopeia heard the note of uncertainty in his voice, saw the way his shoulders twitched, as if holding something back.

The sound of footsteps came in her back, and she turned, seeing Arthur taking a couple of steps toward them, but stopping midway, his chest rising and falling with a heavy breath. He clenched his fists, gulped once, twice, and the terrified light was still here, deep in his blue eyes, but there was bravery in them too now. “T’s me, Charles,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“ _No_ ,” Charles replied, pointing a hard finger to Arthur. The man almost took a step backward under it. “I don’t know _who_ you are, but I buried Arthur years ago.”

“You made him a grave,” Cassiopeia stepped in, moving herself between them, his finger almost touching her chest.

“Whatever you say,” he growled, eyes snapping to her. Then he huffed, closing his eyes for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief, before turning around, ready to leave.

Cassiopeia lunged forward, gripping his wrist, his skin hot under her palm. He stopped, slowly spinning to her and by the way he looked at her, she knew he was ready to strike her to let her go. She shivered, but wouldn’t.

“Look him in the eyes,” she asserted, voice low, “and dare telling me you’re not facing Arthur Morgan.”

He took a step toward her, looking very dangerous and she didn’t know how she kept holding him despite the terror growing inside of her. “You—” he started, but she didn’t let him talk, surprising him and herself.

“Look at him,” she said again, almost begging. She shook his wrist, and something subtly changed in his face, looking a lot like grief. She let go of him and moved away, his eyes staying on her for a long moment before going back to Arthur.

Time seemed to stop around them as the two men stared at each other. A stag bellowed in the distance, along with a bison.

Charles took a sharp, shaking breath, tried to take a step forward but stopped. “Are you really…?” he started, clenching his fist, unable to finish the sentence.

Arthur smiled weakly, and took a few steps toward him again, stopping a couple of feet from him. “Yeah, Charles,” he said, voice deep, harsh and soft. He moved a bit more, standing in front of him, and extended both hands to him, like a peace offering. “I’m alive.”

Charles looked at the hands and took his away, as if fearing the touch. “I can’t believe it,” he said, looking back at Arthur’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Arthur chuckled, the sound a mix of sadness and content. “Me neither, honestly.” He slowly lifted his hands, placing them lightly on Charles arms, and Cassiopeia saw the shudder going down his spine at the touch. “But it’s true,” he added, squeezing.

Charles’ breath shivered, and he took a hold of Arthur's arms. “I buried you,” he said in a low tone, tears in his voice.

“I know,” Arthur answered gently. “I’m sorry, Charles.”

“You don’t get to say that. I should’ve come back with you, should’ve—”

“No.”

“Arthur—”

“Comin’ and riskin’ your life? Over Dutch? Over _Micah?_ Wouldn’t have let ya.”

“I could’ve helped—!”

“You could’ve _died,_ Charles!”

Silence fell over them as they looked into each other’s eyes, so many things unspoken between them, so many regrets gathered in their past. Cassiopeia saw them heaved deep sighs, almost at the same time, before smiling at one another, a bit sad, but a bit happy too. Arthur patted Charles’ arms twice before stepping back, and extended an arm to her, inviting her to come closer. She took a few small steps toward them, still a bit scared by Charles, but still stood beside Arthur, the man landing a hand on her shoulder, grounding her.

“Charles,” he said, voice warmer. “Meet Cass’.”

“Cassiopeia,” she corrected once again, crossing her arms on her chest, hugging herself.

Charles tipped his head at her in a silent greeting, not smiling but his whole face turning to something softer than before. Cassiopeia watched him, amazed by the change. “I scared you,” he said, voice deep and gentle. “I’m sorry.”

She gaped for a second, impressed that her first impression of him was even truer than she thought. “It’s okay,” she said, feeling very tiny despite her height.

Arthur rubbed at her shoulder, and she turned to him. He was smiling and there was a lot of intensity in his eyes. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Cass’,” he claimed, making her blush.

“No, no no, don’t get emotional over me, Arthur. Too many things happened in one day,” Cassiopeia declared, getting away from his hold and walking back to John and Uncle, the both of them watching the whole scene with great attention. “I need to sleep over this!”

Arthur answered with a low chuckle, and she heard Charles’ voice over the sound, “She called you _Pa’_ , right? Is she _yours_?” his voice getting a high and incredulous note.

Arthur laughed at the question, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Not by blood,” he answered.

Not that it really mattered, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a good reunion without a bit of angst, honestly??  
> I'll develop their relationship in the next chapters (OF COURSE), but I just wanted to say that by the end of Chapter VI, Arthur was really fond of Charles (just like Charles was really fond of Arthur) but Arthur didn't know he was gonna make it, so he never did anything about it, kinda pushing Charles away, hence the AwKwArDnEsS


	10. To Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that we're all on the same page, because I never specified it, Cass' heigh reachs around Arthur's shoulder and collarbone by now, so she is T a l l

When the evening came, they all gathered around the fire near the house, exchanging drinks and food above the flame. Arthur and John sat next to each other on a big trunk, beer bottle in hand, and started to talk about old memories of their youth with Dutch and Hosea, though they spoke more about the latter than the former. Uncle laughed with them at their silly stories, sitting on a box, adding his own of his time with the Van der Lindes, the brothers making fun of him in return. Charles, seated right onto the ground, on John’s left, stayed quiet, but he had a small smile on his lips as he listened to them, chuckling lowly from time to time.

Cassiopeia was next to Arthur, her back on the trunk, feet close to the fire pit. She had her journal out, quietly sketching them all on two pages. Her drawing skills still weren’t great, but she was improving, and the memory it held was more important than the accuracy. She still wished she had colored pencils to add more details. Maybe she’d buy some when they go back to Blackwater.

The pen suddenly stopped above the pages when she got reminded of Mary’s letter, still sitting in her satchel. “Ah, shit,” she let out in a breath, letting go of her journal on her thighs and rummaging through the bag to grab the paper.

Arthur sighed at the word. “I swear too much around you,” he said with a snort.

“I knew many bad words _before_ meeting you,” she interjected, finding the letter. “Living in a brothel and with the Sisters taught me this one.” She handed the folded sheet to him, smiling despite his lingering gaze on her scars, not liking the reminder of her past life. “Mary wrote us. She seems to be fine.”

He took the letter from her hand, opening it. “And ya didn’t tell me sooner?”

“Got busy,” she replied, pointing at John. The man grumbled under her fingers, half apologizing again, and she just smirked at him.

“I met her,” Charles said in his low voice. “Maybe four years ago. Told her about…” He looked up at Arthur at the same time as Cassiopeia, but he didn’t hear them, reading Mary’s words.

“Yeah,” she responded, turning back to Charles, meeting his dark eyes. She noticed a patch of green in his left one, enlightened by the fire. “We found her just before the end of the year. That’s how we know about the grave. She’s around Annesburg now.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, a question in his eyes, but John beat him to it. “Isn’t the place dangerous, with the Murfree around?”

“Oh, I’d completely forgotten about those crazy fellers,” shivered Uncle, taking a sip of his bottle – whiskey, she thought. “You remember that cave?”

“Don’t remind me,” sighed Charles, leaning on a box.

“Mary’s somewhere safe,” Arthur interrupted them, tucking the letter away.

“Are we going to see her?” Cassiopeia asked, looking up at Arthur.

“Maybe,” he smiled, ruffling her hair. She brushed his hand away, chuckling. “But not right away. Watchay say ‘bout stay here a while?”

She purposefully made a face, as if the idea was terrible, and Uncle laughed next to her. “As long as I’m not sleeping in that thing,” she answered, pointing at the house.

“A wild thing to the bones,” Uncle chuckled, taking another sip of his bottle.

“Say, how old are you?” John suddenly questioned, curiosity in his eyes.

“Try to guess,” she grinned, taking her journal and pencil back, sketching again. This time, she focused on the fire near her feet, its warmth spreading through her boots, trying to reproduce the flames on the page.

“Fifteen,” John said, sure of himself, and Arthur almost choked on his beer.

“John, you fool!” Uncle claimed, rising his drink in the air. “She can’t be older than thirteen!”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Arthur whispered, laughing his ass off.

Charles hummed on the other side of the fire and she looked up at him. He was studying her with a slight frown, maybe trying to feel her age, but he only shrugged, crossing his arms on his chest and extending his legs in front of him, one on top of the other.

She smirked and looked back at John. “I’m twelve.”

“Eleven,” Arthur corrected, pushing her shoulder with his leg.

“Twelve in four months!”

“But not yet!”

“So, wait,” Charles stopped them, his tone incredulous. “You’re younger than Jack?”

“But you’re a real string bean!” John exclaimed, eyes wide, as Uncle just laughed harder.

“An’ I hope ya never get taller,” Arthur playfully growled.

“I’ll surpass you one day, old man,” she chuckled, adding some last part to her drawing before tucking the journal away. She stretched then, her arms high above her head, like a cat, tried to suppress a yawn and failed.

“Well,” Arthur snorted, gently ruffling her hair. “Looks like our clue to sleep.”

“Already?” she tried to protest, but only yawned, proving Arthur’s point. “Alright, fine,” she grumbled, rubbing at her tired eyes. He patted her back as she got up next to him, stretching a bit more.

“Same for us, I think,” John chuckled, Charles nodding along. “T’was quite the day.”

“You don’ say,” Arthur grunted, standing up, everyone following his lead except for Uncle, who just slumped to the ground, drinking the rest of the bottle in one go and tossing it around. He tipped his hat over his eyes and made himself comfortable on the box, apparently unbothered by its hard edges.

“I’m sayin’ good night to Prince and I’m coming,” Cassiopeia said, going to the stallion. Prince welcomed her with a huff, lifting his head from the floor, already half asleep himself. She passed her arms around his neck and just stayed there for a moment, embracing the horse, smiling softly at his loud and slow heartbeat.

She heard footsteps leaving the camp, guessing it was John’s by how heavy they sounded, but not as heavy as Arthur’s. Then, when the man was far, she heard quiet voices behind her.

“It’s…” started Charles, before stopping for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “For earlier.”

“No need,” Arthur answered warmly, a smile in his voice.

“It’s really good to see you again, Arthur.”

“Same for you, Charles. Same for you.”

Cassiopeia lifted her head from Prince’s fur, turning to them. They were standing close to each other, and thought Arthur’s back was to her, she could see Charles' soft smile and the way his eyes seemed to shine in the dark. She noticed he was a little bit taller than Arthur.

Uncle suddenly cleared his throat, startling them, and Charles turned around, the moment broken by the old man. She let go of Prince’s neck, stroking him slowly, before finally going back to Arthur. He smiled at her when she got close to him, gently bringing her head to his chest,putting a light kiss on her hair. She closed her eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, before getting away, meeting Charles eyes. He was watching them with fondness, and she felt herself blush under his gaze.

She cleared her throat. “Good night, Charles,” she said, embarrassed, and quickly disappeared toward her bedroll.

The man chuckled along with Arthur. “Good night, Arthur,” he said, voice very soft and gentle.

“Good night, Charles,” Arthur answered, voice just as soft and gentle.

***

“If you stay, you help,” asserted John the next morning. “I’ve got a ranch to run, after all!”

“I don’t see Uncle helping,” countered Arthur, pointing at the man sitting near them.

Uncle rubbed at his lower back, grumbling. “I got terminal lumbago, Arthur.”

Cassiopeia grunted a laugh, really understanding how lazy the old man was. Both brothers heaved a deep sigh, apparently used to it, and just let him be.

The tasks around the ranch were easy enough: cleaning the barn, giving food to the different animals and taking care of the horses. Since she and Arthur were going to stay longer than usual, Prince and Artemis had joined the horses in the pen, mostly staying by themselves, but slowly warming to every other mount. There was Falmouth and Nell IV, Charles’ and Uncle’s horses, along with John’s, Rachel, and other labor animals, mostly used to carry the old wagon.

Cassiopeia, with her young age, had been tasked with grooming them all, and was happy to do so. She took great care of them, taking the time to talk to them softly and learning their personalities. Nell IV was the funniest of them all, with his strange mustache and his odd behavior, always trying to catch her hat while she brushed him. Rachel was the impatient type, never staying in the same spot if given the chance, being quickly done with Cassiopeia’s care even though she needed it. Falmouth was very gentle, just like Charles, brushing his lips against her arms in a soft manner, tickling her. He quickly got along with Prince, and they started to playfully run around each other, annoying the other horses.

At the end of the day, Cassiopeia was very tired, but content, when she settled next to the campfire, between Charles and John, back to the log and a bowl of stew in her hands. “None of you can cook,” she said once she tasted it, the food very plain.

Arthur laughed on the other side of the fire, along with Uncle. “Guess it run in the family.”

“Still feels good after a day of work,” stated Charles. She hummed at that, agreeing. Food was always food, after all.

They all ate in silence, the sounds of the night surrounding them, coyotes yapping in the distance, the stew tasting good enough in the end. Cassiopeia devoured it quickly, putting the bowl by her leg. She stretched her limbs, trying to feel more awake, and crossed her hands behind her head, extending her legs in front of the fire, eyes lost in the flames. Everything felt good.

“So, Arthur,” John started, tucking his own bowl away. He cleared his throat, sounding uncomfortable, and Cassiopeia looked up at him, seeing him fidgeting with his hands, brushing his thumbs over one another, repeating the movement again and again. “How did you survive?” he bluntly asked, eyes on his brother.

Arthur stopped eating, spoon resting in the half-finished bowl and watched John for a long moment, eyes locked with his. Then he sighed, putting his bowl away, and looked at her.

She supported his gaze, and she knew what he was thinking. Was it a good idea to tell his story around her, Cassiopeia still being so young despite how grown she looked and acted? Should he wait for her to sleep or just send her away, probably with the horse?

She only raised an eyebrow at him, trying to convey her own thoughts. He could try to wait for her to sleep, but she could also just stay in hearing range to know everything. And she had seen so much already, been through so many things, she felt like she could take what he was going to say.

He sighed again, probably taking the message, and rubbed at his eyes. “A’right,” he replied. “Guess the time’s come.” He seated himself a bit more comfortable on the box, crossing his arm over his chest and immediately uncrossing them, because he was unable to not talk with his hands. “How do I start this?” he grumbled.

Arthur began his story with his sickness. Cassiopeia had always been curious about what disease he had that left him coughing despite being fine, and when he spoke of tuberculosis, everything suddenly made sense. He might have healed from it - though she couldn’t understand _how_ , since apparently it was pretty advanced, seeing the others reactions – but his lungs had permanently been weakened.

Then he spoke about a train, an army one with a lot of cash in it, soldiers’ payroll, filling in what Charles and Uncle had missed. It was supposed to be an easy enough job, but nothing had gone according to plan. “Micah set it up, guess t’s not that surprisin’,” Arthur grumbled. John got shot in the middle of it all, and Dutch lied to them all, claiming his brother was dead.

“Can’t believe it,” John growled. “We gave him _everything_.”

“Hosea’s death really changed him, I reckon,” stated Uncle, bottle untouched in hand. It looked like it was grounding him more than anything.

Arthur shrugged, crossed his arms. “He started changing’ even before that, before Blackwater. But Micah really started to get in his head after Hosea died, yes.”

“How did it happen?” Cassiopeia asked in a tiny voice. She heard so much about Hosea that he felt like a kind grandfather.

“A job gone wrong,” explained John, not adding any details. “Happened in front of us all.” That was probably all she needed to know.

Arthur got back on the train job, on the amount of money they found, apparently a whole lot, but only to come back to a camp roamed by the law – the Pinkerton Agency, nothing else. He told them how Abigail had been caught, how Dutch had just left her behind on Micah’s words, how only he and Sadie decided to help her.

“She was the one to kill Mr Milton,” Arthur chuckled.

John smiled proudly, even if a bit sadly. “She’s a tough woman, my wife.”

“Can’t wait to meet her,” Cassiopeia said, and he shot her a small smile. No one knew if she would ever come back with his son, only hoped that she did.

“ _Micah_ was the rat,” Arthur asserted, interrupting them, anger leaking in his voice. “Not Molly. We shot her for nothin’, jus‘cause Dutch’d been a real asshole to her for too long and no one ever tried listenin’ to her. We all let it happen.”

Cassiopeia didn’t know Molly’s name, but everyone’s shoulders sank at Arthur’s words. “Poor girl,” Uncle whispered. “She wasn’t the sweetest or the kindest, but didn’t deserve that.”

John and Charles hummed at that, agreeing, and Cassiopeia understood that Molly’s story was just a terrible tragedy.

But Arthur kept going. He told them how he tried to confront Micah and explain everything to Dutch, how he understood that nothing could be done when John appeared, very much alive despite his injury. Dutch had betrayed them, throwing their loyalty away and taking Micah’s side when the Pinkertons came into camp to kill them all. He told them about the cave, the money probably still stored in it, abandoning it to help John escape and how he let him go alone in the end.

“When I fought Micah,” he said, voice low, “I knew I was gonna lose. I jus’ wanted to buy John _time_ , if t’was the last thing I was gonna do. I was sick an’ dyin’ anyway.” Cassiopeia frowned at his wording as he sighed. Something didn’t felt right. “Anyway,” he kept going. “I fought, and maybe I’d’ve killed him if Dutch didn’t stop me. They left me bleedin’ on the ground.”

He stopped, eyes locked on the flames in the middle of them. They were all hanging on his every word, listening intently, but he didn’t keep going, lost in his memories.

“What happened, then?” she asked, sitting straighter, bending a bit forward. This felt like the end of it all.

Arthur looked up at her, eyes locking with hers, then at John, Uncle, and Charles. His eyes stayed on him. “Then, I died.”

A heavy and deafening silence fell on them.

Uncle was the first one to recover from this incredible news. “You seem pretty alive, to me!” he tried to laugh, but it felt flat.

“What do you mean, you died?” Charles asked, tensed beside Cassiopeia, probably as tensed as her. She got up at his question, going to sit beside Arthur’s leg, taking his hand in hers, needing to _feel him_ , to know that all of this wasn’t just a dream. He turned to her, squeezing, and he smiled something soft to her. Just like that, the dread holding her heart eased away, knowing that Arthur really was here, alive and by her side. She let her head fall on his thigh, and he let her hand go, passing an arm over her shoulders, holding her against him.

“I took my last breath facin’ the rising sun,” he finally said, facing Charles again. The man took a sharp breath, fists clenching by his side. “I knew I was gonna die. What I didn’t ‘xpect was to live again.”

“Arthur, you don’t make any sense,” John softly said, frowning deeply and watching his brother with concerned eyes.

Arthur only chuckled, the sound very sad. “Oh, I know, John, I know it all sound fuckin’ crazy. But I woke up in a homestead and this— this _strange_ fella was there. Top hat, grey eyes, only wearing black, looking a bit like Trelawny,” Cassiopeia frowned at the description, reminding her of someone “and I swear to whatever God’s up there that he was the Devil himself.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, Arthur?” Uncle let out, doubtful. He finally started to drink his whiskey, apparently really needing it all of a sudden.

Arthur completely ignored him. “He knew me, knew _everything_ of me. Tol’ me I shouldn’t die just yet, tha’ many lives could be saved if I stayed alive, that I needed to find _you_ ,” he emphasized the word by pointing at John, the man straightening under Arthur's hard gaze. “That I’d find someone who really needed help, do real good ‘round me or whatever. He really didn’t make any sense whatsoever.”

“Wait a second,” Cassiopeia interrupted, fully turning to Arthur. “That man. Did he have a mustache? And kinda seemed, I don’t know, powerful?”

Arthur’s eyes darken as he frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Because I met him,” she explained, and now everyone’s eyes were on her.

“He—!” he started to say, fury in his voice, but she didn’t let him talk.

“When we—When I found Mary, it was because of him. He told me one of his friends needed help, and I found her.”

“That goddamn _demon_ —”

“I don’t think he’s the Devil,” she stated, thinking. “Maybe Death. He knew me, too, and, well.” She shrugged, crossing her arms on her chest to protect herself from the memories. “I did kill people.”

“You _what_?” John uttered, completely appalled, but everyone ignored him.

“ _I’m gonna kill’im_ ,” Arthur growled under his breath.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t,” Cassiopeia said, scooting closer to the fire, focusing on its heat. She looked up at Arthur, still fuming. “And anyway, wasn’t he right? Didn’t you save lives during these years? There’s mine, for one.”

“So,” Charles interrupted them, making them all look at him. His elbows were on his knee, hands clasped around each other, and he was looking at Arthur with intensity. “This is all real? You died and you just—resurrected? This isn’t just some weird man that helped you and managed to save you?”

Cassiopeia and Arthur glanced at each other, both sure about who they met, and nodded back at him.

“Damn,” he huffed, slightly shaking his head. “That’s just… crazy.”

“Oh yeah, it sure is,” Arthur grumbled.

“But, well,” Charles shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Whoever he is, I must thank him.”

“What?” Arthur said, dumbfounded.

“Yeah,” John affirmed, supporting Charles. “He brought you back, after all.”

“And we’re very glad of that!” Uncle added, taking a huge gulp of his drink and laughing.

Cassiopeia chuckled, half surprised and half amazed by how fast they just accepted everything. Arthur was gaping next to her, watching them all as if they had suddenly grown a second head. “You’re all utter madmen,” he grumbled, rubbing both hands over his face.

She chuckled again, not exactly happy, but still content in the feeling of belonging in the mess they all were. “Guess it runs in the family,” she said quietly, and Arthur just groaned more, hitting his knee to her shoulder. But when she looked up at him, he looked a bit happier too, a small smile on his lips.

Their lives were strange, but everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, so much retelling of the game's events, I'm sorry, but I wanted the characters to react a bit to it and for Cass' to know at least the end of everything  
> Also, if there's UFO and a time traveler in canon, I figured the Strange Man could revive someone because, you know, Why The Fuck Not


	11. To Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's been days  
> Merry Christmas yall!

A few weeks passed in the ranch, May and its heat slowly coming in, warming the dry country even more.

“I’m so bored,” Cassiopeia complained.

Arthur looked up at her, cleaning the barn, seeing her leaning on the gate, and there was no patience in his eyes. “Go get bored somewhere else!”

She rolled her eyes deeply, knowing there was nothing she could say when he was like that, and left him to his task, wandering in Beecher’s Hope, not knowing what to do. With four grown men – or more like three, since Uncle never did much – the ranch was going well, and Arthur insisted that she needed to be a kid for once and just enjoyed life. She would have gone on a ride with Prince if John didn’t warn them about a gang of crazy people, the Skinner Brothers, who apparently had a liking in kidnapping people and torturing them, so she was definitely  _ not _ going out alone.

And Cassiopeia was just walking around, trying to bother Arthur into doing  _ something _ , but he was definitely not in the mood, and she didn’t know John and Charles enough to go bother them. She had helped them with chores, sure, but she still didn’t feel comfortable enough around them to do more.

“Oi, kid!” Uncle called from under his tree, slumped against its trunk. She turned to him, still wondering why John kept him around. “Com’here a second.”

She sighed, but did as told, having nothing better to do. She got to the old man, and seated beside him, at a reasonable distance. Uncle had the awful particularity to smell like alcohol, cigarettes and sweat, despite not moving all day.

“Ya look like a caged animal ‘round here,” he tells her, bending a bit to her, smirking.

She scrunched her nose and crossed her arms over her chest. “Arthur won’t let me do nothing.”

“He’s one good man, our Arthur,” Uncle nodded, leaning back on the tree. “Who knew he really had a heart under all that toughness?”

She arched an eyebrow, suddenly curious. “Was he mean, before?”

“Ain’t he  _ still _ mean?” he chuckled, making it sound like confidence. She shrugged, not really able to answer that. He wasn’t mean with her. Harsh, sometimes, but never mean. With other people, though… “Depends,” she said in the end.

“Well, it didn’t, back in ‘em days,” Uncle crooned, trying to look like a storyteller. She grinned, unimpressed, as she leaned on the trunk too. “Killed a good bunch of fellers, I tell ya! Was always mean and bitter, and full of anger! ‘Specialy after that woman left him.” He was speaking of Mary there, she knew, and really didn’t like the dark tone he used against her. “A very sad man, he was.”

Cassiopeia frowned, huffing a laugh. “Nah, I don’t believe you.”

“He really was!” he claimed, sending her an offended look. “But t’was a long time ago, long before Charles joins the gang.  _ That _ man really changed him.”

“Thought Dutch and Hosea did that?”

“Oh, well, they did raise him, along with young John, taught him everythin’ he knows, I s’pose. But, nah,  _ Charles _ was the one puttin’ some sense in his dense head. That man made him kinder.”

She spotted said man a bit away from them, too far to hear them, heading to the barn, hair loosely tied. Arthur was barely getting out of it, wheelbarrow full of old hay and other things. Charles spooked him by just saying his greetings, and Arthur turned to him as if he was completely flustered. Charles lowly laughed, the soft sound reaching them and… Was Arthur  _ blushing _ ?

“Jus’ look at ‘em!” Uncle screamed, laughing hard. Both men turned to them, and Cassiopeia sent a hard look at Uncle for ruining everything.

“Don’t tell nonsense to the kid!” Arthur called out, pointing a finger at him. “And don’t listen to tha’ buffoon, Cass’—The old man’s a compulsive  _ liar _ !”

“Me?” Uncle slapped his own chest, outraged. “The things you say, Arthur Morgan!”

Arthur grunted loud enough and waved a hand in dismissal at them, pushing them out of his mind. He turned back to Charles, who was smiling very softly at him, and they finally started to talk quietly. Cassiopeia groaned as she saw Arthur take a step back from the man, quickly going back to work, leaving Charles behind. She also saw the way Charles kept looking at him, Arthur completely unaware of his lingering gaze.

“You might be a liar,” she said, half amused and disgusted by their silly behavior, “but I’m sure you ain’t lying on this one.”

“I’m no liar!”

Cassiopeia turned to him, deadpan. “No one know your real name, Uncle.”

“But Uncle suits me, doesn’t it?”

She leaned to him, very interested all of a sudden. “Would you tell me your real name, old man?”

He hooked his thumbs on his belt, a bright light in his eyes that she really didn’t like. “Would you gather medicine herbs for my lumbago?”

Her first reflex was to say no, but— that would give her something to do. She agreed, listening as he described the plants to her, and rummaged among the whole property of Beecher’s Hope to find them. She scribbled them in her journal, marking their names and what they did, keeping a bit for herself when there was more. A good part of the afternoon went on like that, Cassiopeia barely noticing, having a lot of fun doing this not so simple task.

When she got back to Uncle, the man still laying under the same tree, snoring loudly, the sun was getting low on the horizon, not far from setting, casting orange light on the ranch. It felt a lot like summer.

She kicked him lightly on the feet, startling him out of his sleep. He tipped his hat to have a better look at who was disturbing him and smiled when she handed him the herbs. “Oh, thank you a lot, my dear!” he hummed, tucking them away.

“Now,” she said, bending her knee and staying on her toes. “What’s your real name?”

“Have you real curious, ain’t it?” he chuckled, stretching a bit, his joint creaking. “Aight, I’ll tell you,” he whispered, playful. “But ya can’t say the other.” He extended a hand to her.

Cassiopeia took it. “Deal.”

“It’s Red,” Uncle finally revealed.

She snorted, getting up. “Now I get why you got everyone to call you something else!”

“Don’t mock my name, young girl!” he tried to scold her, slowly getting up too, but his tone was cheerful.

“You can mock mine, if you want,” she laughed, turning around to go find Arthur and bother him. Maybe she’d have him really talking to Charles; they both needed it.

Uncle followed behind her, copying her pace. “Oh no, my dear, yours real pretty.”

Cassiopeia blushed. She had always found her name too long and complicated, and liked how Arthur had shortened it. But her mother chose it and she still loved it in the end. “Thanks,” she answered when they reached the campfire, the other three already gathered around it.

***

“A’right,” John said one morning with his booming voice. They were just taking their breakfast around the campfire, Cassiopeia still half asleep with a cup of tea in her hands, sitting on the trunk beside the camp. “I’ll head into Blackwater to buy things, and I need a hand.”

“Take Cass’,” Arthur grinned, gulping the rest of his coffee and getting up.

She eyed him, a bit unfocused. “Why?”

“It’ll get you out a bit,” he answered, gently ruffling her short hair. They were getting a bit longer, but she didn’t want to cut them, this time. Maybe she’ll let them grow a bit, letting them get curly again. “And I know ya wanna be useful.”

Cassiopeia hummed, sipping at her tea. “Sure,” she mumbled, closing her eyes over her drink’s heat, bathing in it through her hands. “Better than doing nothing all day.”

“Or listenin’ to Uncle’s nonsense,” Arthur chuckled, lightly patting the top of her head.

“Don’t you start, Mister Morgan,” Uncle grumbled from the floor, laying on it as if he hadn’t slept at all.

“Are we going right now?” she asked, turning to John, ignoring Arthur’s huff at the old man.

“Hah,” he shortly laughed, probably mocking her bed hair. She stuck out her tongue, making him chuckled. “Nah,” he said with a smile. John’s smiles were strange, not warm like Arthur’s or soft like Charles’, but there was something nice in them all the same. Maybe because he was the youngest. “Take your time to wake up, kid.”

She nodded, turning back to her tea, sipping a bit more of it, half listening to Arthur and Uncle arguing over something stupid, both aware of it but doing so just for the fun of it, the other half focus on the birds chirping, recognizing their sounds despite herself. She should start drawing them, too.

“Leave me alone, you grumpy man,” Uncle said, waving a hand at Arthur, putting his hat over his face. “My lumbago’s killing me.”

“Well, le’me tell ya about TB, you lazy sack of shit.” She looked up at Arthur at the sentence, hearing Charles make a strange noise beside her, but he had his funny smile on his face, hands on his hips and almost laughing. She turned to Charles, wondering what got into him, but he was looking at Arthur, something dark in his eyes. He probably didn’t like the reminder about Arthur’s old disease. She didn’t really like it, either, but Arthur seemed at peace with it, or as much as he could be.

She drank the last bit of her tea, the drink getting a bit cold, and finally stood up, tucking her cup away. She stretched, pushing her hands high above her head, just like a cat, before rubbing at her face and turning to John. “I’m ready.”

“Damn,” he chuckled, shaking his head, throwing his coffee on the ground. “You’re just like Arthur.”

Cassiopeia frowned at him, bewildered. What did she do? She turned to Arthur, about to ask, but he was frowning at John just like her and, well. Maybe he had a point.

“Alright, off we go!” John loudly said, and she followed him to the cart, still a bit confused that she was  _ just like Arthur _ , apparently. Did she really take so much of him?

She thought about the journal in her satchel, and she probably really did.

John and her didn’t talk much on the first part of the ride, Cassiopeia trying to pinpoint other things that she did like Arthur. Everything he taught her didn’t count, because she was obviously going to do it just like him. Except her writing, maybe; Arthur’s was very pretty when hers was just messy and still not exactly accurate most of the time, though she had been better since she’d started her journal. She never wrote anything in it, except for names going with her drawing – from people, animals, plants or places – but that was enough for her.

“Am I really like Arthur?” she ended up asking, pushing her hat away from her eyes to look at John.

He turned to her with an eyebrow raised, a smirk stretching his lips. “Sure,” he chuckled lowly, turning back to the road.

“How?” she questioned, still confused.

“It’s the way you are,” he answered. “The way you hold yourself. You speak like him, too, in a way, though without the accent.”

“That ain’t true,” she tried to object, and realized Arthur would have said the exact same thing. “Damn, you’re right,” she breathed, surprised by herself.

“See?” he chuckled, the sound raspy. “Told ya. How long have you been with him, anyway?”

“It’ll be three years, in September. He found me when I was nine.”

“That’s pretty young.” There was a question behind that statement.

“Yeah.” She wasn’t going to answer. “Is Jack like you too?” she asked instead, curious about the boy. She couldn’t wait to meet someone her age, being surrounded by adults was boring sometimes.

“Er,” he grumbled, scratching at his beard. “Not exactly.”

“Is he like Abigail, then?” Meeting her seemed just as interesting.

“Neither,” he tried to laugh, but there was something bitter in it.

Cassiopeia crossed her arms over her chest, studying him for a second. He was still smiling, but it didn’t exactly feel right. “How is he, then?”

“He’s the smart kind,” he answered after a moment, fondness in his voice. “Always reading, that boy, not talking much. Life’s probably better in his books, I s’pose.” The bitterness was back, stronger this time. She guessed they didn’t really get along. But then, he sighed deeply and it was gone. “Can’t exactly blame him. He’d seen a lot of harsh things, ‘specially in the gang.”

She only hummed at that, remembering Arthur’s drawing of Jack. He was very tiny on it. “I’m sure they’re fine,” she said, not knowing what to say. “If he’s smart, he’ll get them out of every problem.”

John didn’t say anything at that, but he smiled and it felt enough.

They got into Blackwater, parking next to the grocery store – no wheel coming off this time. They gathered everything they needed in the back of the cart, boxes of supplies for them and the ranch, along with two pre-cut beds – a simple one and a double one - and everything was quickly settled with the both of them, even if Cassiopeia was only able to lift one box when John could lift three.

A nice breeze fell on them as they got back to the ranch, the cart going slower with the weight of everything. Cassiopeia sighed, missing Prince; she’d have to ask Arthur when they could ride again.

Thinking about Arthur led her to think about Charles, and then the both of them. “Hey, John,” she started, unsure of what she was going to ask. He only hummed at her, showing he was listening. “How did Charles join the gang?”

“Ol’ Hosea found him,” John revealed after some time thinking. “He was a loner, before us, always had apparently.” It did fit Charles. “Hosea liked to hunt, from time to time, real big beasts. He’d take Arthur, me, or one o’ the boys, but usually, he’d go alone.”

“Seems pretty dangerous,” she remarked, remembering Arthur’s lesson about safety. Hunting was difficult, even with small things like rabbits, but hunting big animals could be deadly.

“Was the careful kind, the old man, but, yeah.” He let out a short laugh, memories coming back to him. “Arthur saved him from a very huge grizzly, one day.”

“Grizzlies are  _ always _ huge.”

“This one’s even bigger.”

“Is that possible?”

“Apparently.”

“ _ Damn _ ,” she uttered, not ever wanting to come across a beast like that.

“Anyway, Charles’s a hunter himself. Use a bow and all.” She briefly wondered if Charles taught Arthur how to hunt with that weapon. “Hosea and him, they found themselves hunting the same thing, what’s it again?” John scratched at his face, trying to remember what kind of animal they were after. “Was it a bison? Ain’t sure ‘bout that. Charles got it before the old man, and impressed Hosea with his skills, I guess. Probably saw something in him, since he offered to join us. Charles denied, at first.”

“Really? Why?”

John shrugged. “Was probably used to being alone. But he found us a few weeks after that.” His shoulders shake with a silent laugh. “We almost killed him.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“Yeah! Comin’ in an outlaw’s camp without warning, what d’ya think can happen? Arthur was on watch, that day, he almost shot his brain out on sight.”

Quite a way to start a relationship. “Why didn’t he?”

“Hosea recognized him. Dutch and him talked a long time with Charles, and they welcomed him in the end.”

“And he became Arthur’s best friend,” she laughed, trying to push the conversation to something more precise.

“Oh, not right away,” John answered, maybe seeing right through her. “But in the end, yeah, they were close.”

Cassiopeia chewed on her next words, trying them in her head a bit before being sure of what she really wanted to say. “Do you think those eight years did something to them?”

John glanced at her, then back at the road. They were getting close to the ranch. “What d’ya mean?”

She shrugged. “Did they get closer? Or less close?”

John didn’t say anything for long minutes, seeming to think on what to say, fidgeting the reins in his hands. “I don’t know,” he said in the end. “I’d say less, ‘cause Arthur’s pretty cautious around Charles now, but Charles’s different too.”

“I guess dying didn’t help,” she stated, straight forward. John fully turned to her, a little bit shocked, eyebrows high on his forehead. “What?” she said. “Gotta face the truth.”

John hummed, and she couldn’t tell if he was agreeing or just acknowledging what she said. He didn’t get to say more, because they finally arrived at Beecher’s Hope. Boxes needed to be stored and beds to be assembled.

***

“Arthuuuur,” Cassiopeia called from the fence, leaning desperately on it, trying to catch the man’s attention from grooming the horses.

He turned to her, one eyebrow raised, and laughed at her pout, making a confused face. “What d’ya want?”

“We haven’t ridden in  _ days _ ,” she complained. He let the brush fall to the ground, getting to her, still smiling with laugher. “Can’t we go hunting, or something?”

“Am kinda in the middle of something, Cass’,” he replied, hands locked on his hips.

“Pleaaase?” She even clasped her hands together, looking like praying, doing her best puppy eyes. He only arched an eyebrow at her, clearly not buying it.

“Why don’t ya ask Charles?” he asked with a grin, leaning on the fence beside her. She cringed at that. “He’s a better hunter than me, could learn a thin’ or two from him.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Charles. He was always nice to her, his voice quiet and warm. But she couldn’t really shake their first meeting out of her mind, his burning gaze on her. “He scares me,” she admitted, head shrinking between her shoulder. She knew it was kind of stupid.

Maybe Arthur saw something in her eyes, because his smile softened and he reached for the back of her head, brushing her hair under the edge of her hat. “He looks big and scary, but he ain’t,” he said softly. “And I know,” he added, poking at her nose, making her flinch a bit, “that you know it.”

Cassiopeia looked away. “Maybe,” she confessed, letting her head fall on her arms, crossed over the wood. Of course she did. She was just  _ shy _ . She’d never been shy before.

“Hey,” came Charles’ low voice from their side, making them both look up. He was cleaning his hands with an already very stained fabric, walking to them, smiling. Cassiopeia was always surprised to see Charles smile, always in a soft and quiet way. He usually didn’t, even if there was one in his eyes.

“Hey, Charles,” Arthur replied straightening up. She glanced at him, seeing his smile get a bit wider, blue eyes shining, then back at Charles, who was squinting his own oh so subtly with fondness. “Say, ya busy right now?”

Charles tucked the stained cloth away, and stood beside Cassiopeia, far enough that he didn’t step into her personal space. He always seemed very conscious of people’s boundaries. “Not particularly,” he answered, crossing his arms on his chest, making him look even bigger. “Why?”

“Cass’ is getting’ bored again,” he grinned, waving at her.

Her eyes snapped to him, outraged. “I didn’t say that!”

“Oh, so you’re not?” She grunted, avoiding his gaze. “Thought so,” he chuckled.

“It just been ages since I’ve rode Prince, is all,” she grumbled, trying to explain herself.

“I know, ya miss him.” He pushed her hat over her eyes, and she straightened, getting away from him before lifting it up. “You think you can busy her a bit?” he kept going, turning back to Charles.

Charles nodded, his whole features getting softer, and Cassiopeia really didn’t know why she was scared by a man looking so kind. “Sure,” he answered, and she wondered if she heard a small laugh hidden behind his usual growl. “Exercise would be good for Falmouth too,” he added, turning to her, his very dark eyes meeting hers. “We could hunt, if that’s okay with you.”

She agreed with a nod, a bit stiff. “Yeah,” she still said. “Hunting is nice.”

“Show her some o’ your tricks,” Arthur laughed warmly, patting Charles’s shoulders, making his small smile grow a bit. She saw the tip of Arthur’s ears grow red at the sigh, and he cleared his throat, retreating his hand, before turning to her. “And you behave,” he said, pointing a finger at her. She gaped at him, ready to tell him that she always behaved during a hunt, but he was already getting back to the horse he had been grooming, the mare welcoming his pets with a snore.

“Alright,” Charles chuckled softly. “Let’s get the horses ready.”

Cassiopeia finally felt home when she got on Prince’s back, the stallion as happy as her, nickering with content. Falmouth was less expressive than him, but he still seemed delighted to see Charles again.

They first walked side by side along the Great Plains, slowly going to the west, heading to Tall Trees, just enjoying the silence of the wind around them, the shrieking of birds of prey in the sky, Charles’ quiet presence beside her. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep and slow breath, letting it out with a content smile. When she opened her eyes again, Charles was a bit ahead of her, and her eyes fell on the bow at the side of his saddle.

She spurred Prince to get to his height again, so they could talk more easily. She realized she had many questions for him. “Did you teach Arthur how to use a bow?”

Charles nodded, eyes still on the road. “Gave him my old one.”

“The one he has?”

“No.” His shoulders stiffen a bit. “I believe he lost it a long time ago.”

Eight years ago, she guessed. She turned away from him, not wanting to remind him of Arthur’s death more than necessary. Her questions could wait.

“Do you know how?” Charles softly said, taking her out of her thoughts.

She looked at him, frowning. “How what?”

“Use a bow,” he added, pointing at his own.

Cassiopeia shook her head. “No. No one sells it for kids, and Arthur didn’t know how to make one I could use. I tried with his, one time, but I couldn’t even pull the string.”

“I bet,” he chuckled lowly. “His isn’t made for your height or strength. But I could craft you one, if you want.”

She felt her heart stutter with hope. “Really?” she asked, voice a bit tiny.

“Of course,” he stated, his voice rumbling through his chest. “And teach you how to use it, too. I don’t think Arthur would be a good teacher on archery.”

She frowned at that, a bit confused. “Why?”

“Arthur’s a natural,” he revealed. “Always had a good aim and posture for it.”

“Probably come from being a good shot,” she chuckled. He only hummed at that, the sound a bit amused.

They rode a bit more, spurring their horses to go faster, finally getting into the forest. Cassiopeia really felt home once they reached the canopy of the trees, more used to the woods than the plains. They settled Falmouth and Prince into a clearing, each gaining an apple for the ride, and, finally, they started to hunt.

Charles took the lead at first, bow in hand and arrows by his side, Cassiopeia following him with her rifle in hand. Charles had eyed the weapon in her hands for some seconds when she took it out, but he only nodded at her. She wasn’t going to kill any animal with it, leaving Charles’ arrows to that. It was just in case. Safety first, Arthur always told her.

During the first minutes of their hunt, she really understood why Arthur kept saying Charles was better than him. The man was  _ silent _ , not making any sound, being very careful with his every step, as quiet as possible. Cassiopeia followed his tracks, miming him, trying to understand where he was walking, learning as much as she could from just watching him. His tracking skills were also better than Arthur’s, eyes as sharp as an eagle, able to see the tiny little details of the wildness. It was amazing, to just watch him, his stealthiness, the way he was holding himself to look tinier than he was, looking around and spotting things she couldn’t see.

The first hunt happened in silence, and they found a doe at the end of it. Cassiopeia held her breath as Charles notched an arrow. He drew the bowstring in a swift, steady move, and let it go after a few seconds, the arrow going right to the doe’s throat. It fell on the floor with a loud thud, scattering birds around them, but it didn’t scream. A clean kill.

Charles got to the doe, but instead of starting to skin it, like Arthur would do, he just took a bunch of fallen leaves and tucked it over it. Once the whole corpse was covered, he nodded at his work, before turning back to her.

“Why?” she quietly asked, pointing at the little hill of leaves.

“It’ll cover the smell of blood,” he simply answered. She made a silent ‘oh’ with her mouth, understanding. Predators would be less appealed by it, and they could get back to it later to retrieve it properly. “Do you want to track the next one?” he asked then, and though she really wanted to, she felt like she wouldn’t do justice to his work. “It’s okay if not,” he softly said, his face kind, probably seeing something on hers.

“No,” she quickly blurted, maybe too loud. She gathered herself, getting control of her voice. “It’s the best part,” she added, feeling her cheeks warming.

He smiled at that, the same small one, so very soft. “It is,” he conceded. Then he made a move with his hand, telling her to lead the way.

Cassiopeia found the track of another deer, and started to follow it, making much more noise than Charles. She cringed at herself for not being as silent as she would like, but he didn’t say anything, so she guessed it was fine. She still tried to mimic his stealthy steps. She lost the track a few times, but always managed to find it back; in the end, they reached another doe, eating grass in a small clearing, surrounded by pine trees.

Charles got beside her, readying his bow, but Cassiopeia caught a move out of the corner of her eyes, and when she turned around, she quickly grabbed Charles’ arm, stopping him. He froze his aim, and by the way he stiffened under her touch, she knew he spotted what she’d seen.

A small fawn was making his way on wobbly legs, going to the doe in front of them. It was making small sounds, and when it reached his mother, she licked him fondly. They watched them for a long time, both hypnotized by the animals, before they drifted off, leaving the clearing and going back into the forest and probably their herd.

“Good call,” Charles said, and she blushed under the praise. He tucked his bow and arrow away, getting up. She followed his move as he headed back to the first doe, whistling for the horses. “Let’s head back to the ranch.”

“Okay,” she said, eyes still glued to the spot where the two deer disappeared. She didn’t feel like hunting anymore.

When they got back on their horses, Cassiopeia couldn’t stop her eyes from falling on the dead doe on Falmouth’s back. “Do you think she had a baby too?” she asked in a tiny voice, uncomfortable with the idea.

“Maybe,” Charles answered, not easing her worries. “But a predator could have killed her too. That’s why deer live in a herd, so the fawns still have a family.”

“Would it have another mother?”

“Probably,” he said, turning to her. He had this smile in his eyes, not reaching his mouth, but softening his whole face. She felt a bit better.

“Kinda like me with Arthur,” she claimed, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Charles tipped his head forward in agreement. “Kind of.”

Silent fell on them, only interrupted by the horses’ hooves on the ground and the chirping birds around her. The wind blowing in the trees, the bellow of a bison far, far away, a hawk screaming high above them.

“You know,” she started, a thought crossing her mind. “Arthur, he…” She stopped, unsure that it was her place to say that, but feeling like she needed too. She fully turned to Charles, who was watching her, listening intently. “He really likes you.”

It wasn’t a secret, everyone knew that. Uncle, John, everyone could tell. But saying it out loud, it felt more real.

Charles blinked at her, not surprised. He only let out a short laugh, a small huff, and he shook his head, looking back at the road. “I know,” he simply said, smiling something even softer than usual.

“You won’t hurt him, right?” she asked, suddenly feeling on edge. She felt like she could destroy that man if he ever hurt Arthur.

“I won’t,” he affirmed, sounding like a promise, and the sudden anger receded just as quick as it had grown.

She abruptly blushed as another question made her way to her mind and, really, she shouldn’t ask it, but wasn’t able to stop it. “Will you—” she started, before cutting herself off. Charles glanced at her, and she felt her skin getting even warmer. “Will you do something about it?” she blurted out, getting the words out in one breath.

Charles only chuckled, and she looked stubbornly at the road, avoiding his dark eyes. She still felt his gaze on her. “You worry about him a lot, don’t you?”

She let out a shaky breath, petting Prince’s neck to soothe herself. “Yeah,” she softly said, voice tiny. Just like Arthur worried about her.

They got surrounded by an uncomfortable silence, and she knew that Charles was thinking beside her, finding his next words carefully. All of his words were carefully chosen, never wasting them on something that didn’t matter. She liked that about him, because he always felt very sincere, was it about the terrible stew Uncle made, or about the stars above them when neither Arthur nor him could sleep and she heard their voices near the fire from her bedroll.

“Relationships are complicated things, Cassiopeia” he said, voice deep and serious. “And Arthur is a complicated man. He needs time. We all do.” She glanced at him, finding his eyes staring back at her, still so very soft, so very kind. “There’s no need for rush,” he stated after a few seconds.

She looked in his eyes, holding his gaze, and she understood that he wasn’t talking only about Arthur. Because she was part of the equation too now, after the eight years they spent apart, death looming over them in very different ways, but still there nonetheless. She was a part of Arthur’s life and Charles wasn’t forgetting her.

She felt her heart quiver with something she couldn’t pinpoint yet, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “Alright,” she said, her throat feeling tight. And Charles only smiled at her, oh so softly, and just as warm as Arthur.

When they got back to the ranch, he was there to welcome them. He congratulated them both for the doe, and Charles only tipped his head in thanks, taking the doe off Falmouth back, and heading near their fire to take care of it. Cassiopeia started to lead both stallions to the pen, taking their saddles away, Arthur helping her with the heavy leather.

“So,” he started, a grin in his voice. “Was he scary?”

She looked at him, the thought of making a joke out of it crossing her mind, but she dismissed it as soon as it came. She focused on his blue eyes for a few seconds, and he frowned, a bit confused.

“No,” she said in the end. “He’s very nice.”

Arthur let out a laugh, the one sounding like thunder. “Told ya. The nicest of us all.” He patted her shoulder and let her take care of Prince, like she always liked to after a ride.

Cassiopeia stared at his back when he was leaving, watching him go to Charles near the campfire. He sat next to him, going to help with the doe, a bit close, closer than with Uncle or John, but not as close as he was with her.

“Yeah,” she whispered to herself, petting Prince’s nose, the stallion bumping it into her palm. “I guess we need time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another title for this chapter: To get yourself involved in your father figure romantic realtionship
> 
> This chapter is one of my favorite, even if writing John is hard
> 
> And yes, Uncle is Red Harlow, because I saw a theory about it and liked the idea of this useless bastard being actually Famous


	12. To Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Cynophobia and a small Panic Attack

Things settled during the next few weeks, May slowly coming to its end, dragging summer and thunders along its way. The ranch kept going, John leading the whole thing and getting the hang of it all, being more and more professional over the cattle, the things that had to be done, but not losing his friendliness over them all.

Sadie Adler came in one day, looking for him, and was surprised to find Arthur around the house. She had hugged him for a long time, thanking him over and over, before he pushed her away, never very comfortable with touch. But she was there to ask John for help over a bounty, something quite simple, but with cash at the end of it. And John really needed money for his loan.

They left in the same hour, Arthur going with them, just to be sure and because Cassiopeia knew he missed roaming the world. She had noticed how hardworking he was getting as the days went on, and they had ridden a few times together, going over the forest just for the peace of it all. They camped there one night and got back, always welcomed back by Charles.

He was there when John and Arthur got back from the job, and Cassiopeia had followed him to greet Arthur. She stopped breathing when she spotted blood on him.

“I’m not doing a job with Sadie ever again,” he had growled, not explaining anything and everything at once.

“What happened?” asked Charles, voice flat, giving away the note of worry. He was inspecting Arthur for bigger wounds, just like she was, and sighed with relief when he didn’t see anything serious.

Arthur had glanced at her then at Charles, and during the few seconds they held each other gaze, a silent conversation happened and Arthur didn’t explain anything. He had squeezed his shoulders, Charles nodding at him, and finally got to her, hugging her against his chest, easing her worried and stuttering heart. She had squeezed him hard.

“You okay?” she asked, ear against his beating heart.

“Jus’ a scratch,” he answered, rubbing at her back. “I’ll be fine.”

She only nodded, knowing he won’t tell her what happened. He smelled like gunpowder, fire and blood.

But he healed, just like John, and bit by bit, everything felt right again.

***

Cassiopeia was with Charles, helping him clean the pens, following him with a wheelbarrow while he put everything that needed cleaning in it. She was mostly waiting by him, enjoying the silent he carried with himself, and watching around with no real purpose. Her eyes were glued to John at the moment, chopping logs for their fire – even though he had started sleeping in the house by now, slowly adding furniture. She wasn’t really seeing him, just following the movement of his axe and the wood falling on the floor. She saw him stop for a second, passing an arm over his forehead to clean the sweat leaking in his eyes, saw him looking up, gazing all over Beecher’s Hope, something like pride in his posture.

Something suddenly changed, as she saw his eyes lock on something. He stayed like that for long seconds, and she frowned, wondering what had gotten into him. Then, he let go of the axe, letting it fall on the ground, and he started to run.

“Something’s happening,” she quickly said to Charles, feeling the man coming beside her, not losing sight of John.

He didn’t run very far. He stopped in front of a woman, followed by a young boy, and Cassiopeia felt her heart burst with joy. John and the woman stared at each other, exchanging words she couldn’t rhear, and then they hugged, embracing the other with strength and love.

Charles let out a pleased huff beside her, and she knew that Abigail and Jack had finally come home.

And then, a dog barked.

Cassiopeia tensed in an instant, and her hand flew to something tangible to hold. She grabbed Charles' shirt, clutching it like a lifeline. She felt his eyes on her when she did it, but wasn’t able to tear hers of the animal running to John.

“Cassiopeia?” he called with his soothing voice, the one he used with a frightened horse. Her heart was pulsing loudly in her ears, and she almost didn’t hear him. “What is it?” he said, voice very soft, putting a grounding hand on her shoulder.

The dog was going to the house, tail wagging madly with joy, happy for this whole new environment. She winced when he got a bit closer to them, squeezing the fabric in her hand stronger.

Charles probably had followed her line of sight, because he asked the right question. “Is it the dog?” She nodded once, taking a tentative step backward, feeling like her legs wouldn’t support her much longer. He squeezed her shoulder, letting her know he was here, and followed her move. “It’s okay,” he tried to reassure her, voice soft and steady. “It won’t hurt you.”

 _It will_ , a voice was screaming inside of her skull. _It’ll come and bite and hurt and_ **_kill_ **.

Arthur wasn’t here. He was in the barn, taking care of the cattle, not hearing the dog, not seeing it, not being here to protect her like he always did every time a dog crossed their path, tucking her behind him, facing the animal with a loud and commanding voice, chasing it away. She wanted to scream, but her throat felt so tight, too tight, and even breathing was becoming hard.

Her eyes were still on the dog, and she saw the moment it spotted them. He let out a loud bark, Cassiopeia answering with a whine, and it started to run to them.

She let go of Charles’ shirt, ready to flee to Prince and ride as far away as she could when a hand suddenly pushed her to the side, and broad shoulders blocked her vision, Charles shielding her by his simple presence, one hand holding her in place behind him. He was invading her space, more than he ever did, but his big and powerful presence wasn’t overwhelming and she let her eyes closed as her forehead fell between his shoulder blades, clasping her hands around his shirt once more, shivering with fear.

“ _No_ ,” he let out loudly, the word rumbling through his chest, carrying more strength than she was used to. She heard the dog let out another bark, _so close to them, so very dangerously close,_ but Charles didn’t quiver under it. He stomped his foot on the ground, reminding her of a bison ready to charge. “Get!” he added, even louder. The dog let out a whine but its steps quickly faded away.

Cassiopeia felt like she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t let go of Charles.

She knew by the way his shoulder moved that he slightly turned to her, trying to see her from his back. “Cass’,” he called softly, the name slipping. He never called her like that before, and she would have mind in any other circumstance, but his voice was so soft, so warm and gentle that she only pushed herself harder on him, trying to forget the world existed around them. “Hey,” he whispered, trying to catch her attention. But he wasn’t used to this.

“Arthur,” she whimpered, tears going down her cheeks.

“Arthur!” Charles called immediately, the loudest she ever heard him. She didn’t know he could be louder than John and never felt more grateful for it.

It only took a few seconds for Arthur to reach them, alarmed by Charles' cry. “Cass’!” he called from the barn’s gate, and she heard him jump the fence of the pen. He was on them immediately, taking Cassiopeia’s shoulder in one hand, the other stroking her back with long, steady movements. “What happened?” he asked Charles, that she still hadn’t let go of.

“A dog,” he simply answered, tensed

“ _Shit_.”

“She asked for you.” A small silent fell on them, and she wondered if they were looking at each other. “I don’t know what to do,” Charles added, voice very small and unsure.

Maybe Arthur nodded, because he didn’t say anything more. She felt his hand move from her back to her neck, staying there, firm and warm, grounding her. “Cass’, sweetheart” he called softly, face close to hers. His other hand let go of her shoulder and settled on hers, still holding Charles. “It’s okay, Cass’, everything’s alright,” he kept going, lightly pressing on her fingers to let go, bit by bit, very gently. She took a deep and shaky breath, still crying, staining the fabric with her tears. “You can let go, I’m here, the dog’s gone, you're safe.” Even Charles was rubbing at the shoulder he had been holding, trying to sooth her the best he could, to help more than he already did.

Cassiopeia lifted her head from his back, immediately meeting Arthur’s worried blue eyes. He smiled at her, cradling her hair gently. She realized her hat had fallen on the floor. “Hey, kid,” he whispered. “You’re okay, ya hear me? You’re okay.” His hand went across her back, taking a hold of her shoulder, Charles letting go of it. “Com’here,” he quietly said, dragging her to his chest.

She let him, completely getting away from Charles back, burying her face in Arthur’s chest as he clutched her in his arms. He kissed her hair line, lips staying there, rocking her lightly as she let herself fully cry on him. “It’s okay, baby, everything’s fine, you’re okay,” he said, whispering the soft words in her ears, comforting her with his deep and hoarse voice.

He kept speaking quietly, like he used to when she was younger and had a very vivid nightmare or when panic settled over her heart without letting go, one hand in her hair, the other rubbing her back. She focused on the sound of his voice, trying to ease the fear away, to gain control of herself. She was aware of Charles' presence near them, close enough that she could feel him, but not in her personal space anymore.

The wind was blowing on them, carrying the sounds of animals around them, birds, horses, chickens. The dog was still there, barking a bit, but it was away, far enough and getting farther. Bit by bit, her crying stopped, and breathing became easier. Her beating heart settled, going slower and slower.

Exhaustion crashed over her all at once, the fear leaving her more tired than she should be. She sighed deeply, moving her head a bit from Arthur’s chest, putting her cheek on his shirt, listening to his heart. She finally opened her eyes, seeing the sun getting down, not so far from the horizon. How long did they stay like this?

“How ya feelin’?” Arthur asked softly, bending his head a bit to catch her eyes. She avoided them, locking on something on the ground – a big rock, grey and white, with some black stain and pink crystals. She shrugged at the question. “Not ready to talk yet?” She nodded. “A’right then. What ya say ‘bout going to see Prince and Artemis? Kinda left them by themselves a bit, dontchu think?”

She nodded again, getting away from his chest, and finally looking in his eyes. He held her by the shoulders for a few seconds, smiling softly at her, but she couldn’t smile back yet. His thumbs rolled circle over her sleeves, soothing her, and he let his hand fall next to hers. She grabbed it, feeling the calluses on his palm and fingers brushing her skin, and he started to lead her to the horses, back into the stable.

Cassiopeia raised her head then, stopping, looking around them. She spotted Charles still in the pen, all cleaning forgotten, just taking care of Falmouth, who didn’t really need it. She looked up at Arthur, who was watching her intently, patiently waiting for her, and she pointed at Charles.

Arthur only chuckled softly, fondness in his eyes. “Sure,” he said, and they got to him. Falmouth heard them first, turning his big head to them and snoring softly in a greeting, his tails going up and down once with content. Charles saw the movement, obviously, and turned to them. His eyes stayed on Cassiopeia, and heaved a slow sigh, shoulders slackened with relief.

When Arthur and her really reached him, she let go of his hand, got closer to Charles and hugged him.

He made a startling move, as if about to back away, but only froze, not daring to do anything. Cassiopeia placed her forehead on his chest, basking in his warmth for a moment. After a few seconds of doing nothing, Charles finally placed his hands on her shoulders, unused of the display of affection.

When she let go, she looked him in the eyes, and even though his face wasn’t giving away anything, she saw the small smile in his gaze. “Thank you,” she softly said, putting a lot of meaning behind every word.

The smile reached his lips, and his dark eyes suddenly grew very soft. “Anytime,” he answered, and he meant it as much as her.

Arthur settled between her shoulder blades, and she looked up at him and his smile. “Talkin’ again?” he asked, without any pressure behind it.

“A bit,” she answered in a quiet voice, shrugging.

“’Kay.” He ruffled her hair and put her hat back on her head. “Still wanna see the horses?”

“And ride?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“With Charles?” she added, turning to the man. He huffed, raising an eyebrow, clearly not expecting it.

“If he wants to,” Arthur said, allowing him to say no.

Charles’ eyes turned to Arthur, and he smiled a bit more. “With pleasure.”

Cassiopeia smiled at that, the gesture still a bit small, but there nonetheless.

***

They rode until the night fell on them. Arthur and Charles mostly stayed at a slow pace among the plains, but Cassiopeia and Prince galloped fast around them, almost standing on the stirrups, hand clasped on her hat so it wouldn’t be blown away by the wind. She let the joy of this simple run go through her veins, the tiredness easing away, and she ended up smiling more widely when she settled back near Arthur, who was watching her with pride in his eyes.

“Feeling better?” he asked

“Yeah,” she answered, giggling as Prince shook his whole frame as much as hers.

Arthur hummed, studying her under the starlight. “Ya think we can go back?”

Her smile fell a bit, but she had already thought about it. The dog belonged to Jack and Abigail, and was definitely still going to be there. She didn’t like the idea, sending shivers down her spine, but maybe… maybe, if she was aware of it, she could handle it better. Learning to avoid it, and perhaps, _perhaps_ , learning to let it get closer.

“Yeah,” she answered, eyes locked with Arthur’s.

He smiled, turning to Charles, who smiled back, and Arthur nodded, tugging at Artemis reins to make her turn around. They followed him to the ranch, all side by side.

When they got back and dismounted in the stable, John was there to welcome them, worried lines between his eyebrows, no dog in sight. “What happened?” he asked them, waving his hands around in confusion.

“Well—” Arthur started, but Cassiopeia spoke before him.

“I’m scared of dogs,” she said hastily. She knew the animal was still around and couldn’t stop the fear crawling on her skin, giving her goosebumps. Arthur put a light hand on her back, giving her enough courage to talk about it.

“That’s it?” John let out, still very confused and not understanding what she really meant.

“It’s not fear,” Arthur asserted, voice a bit hard. “It’s terror.”

John frowned at them for a few seconds before something finally seemed to click in his mind. “Like Dutch with snakes?” he asked carefully, aware that mentioning the man’s name had consequences on Arthur.

He only sighed, nodding. “Yeah, like Dutch with snakes.”

John sighed back, nodded too, and rubbed a hand across his bread. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll keep Rufus in, then, I guess.” Cassiopeia didn’t know why, but she was surprised the dog had a name. Just like she had named Prince. Just like her mother had named her.

When she went to sleep this night, leaving Arthur and Charles by the campfire, alone with themselves, she decided to try. Because Rufus was cared for, and that gave her enough reasons to just try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I decided Cass' would be scared of dogs, I completely forgot Rufus existed
> 
> Also, I love Sadie, really, but her whole character seems very dangerous and self destructive in the epilogue to me. But, with what she lived and how much she'd lost, that's understandable, honestly.
> 
> EDIT: I completely forgot but-- HAPPY NEW YEAR YALL, LOVE ON YOU, YOUR FAMILY AND YOUR COW


	13. To Befriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot, what plot? I only know softness

Cassiopeia shot up on her bedroll the next day, when Rufus started to yap loudly into the house, the noise barely muffled. She was ready to flee again, but Arthur suddenly was beside her, holding one of her hands, the other across her back, squeezing her shoulder.

“Easy there,” he whispered, voice still full of sleepiness, and she turned to him. His eyelids were barely open and he wasn’t completely focused on her. He had small dark circles under his eyes, and she wondered if sleep failed him because of her.

Rufus barked again, and she clutched his hand in hers, until the dog finally stopped. After long seconds of silence, light slowly coming into the sky, the sun still not up yet, she heaved a deep sigh, tenseness leaving her a bit. She gently pushed Arthur’s hand off of her shoulder and settled back on her mattress, Arthur following her lead next to her.

“Sorry,” she whispered, because she felt the need to say something without knowing what.

Arthur only hummed, stretching his arms a bit and rolling his shoulders. “No need,” he said back. “We coul’ sleep elsewhere, ya know.”

“No.” She sighed again, rubbing at her eyes. “I mean, I know we could, but I don’t want to.”

He turned his head to her, opening one eye to look her up and down, frowning a bit in confusion. “Why?” His voice was a bit hoarse, making it deeper than usual and she liked that.

Cassiopeia only shrugged a bit, turning over on the side to fully face him. “I don’t know. I just… It’s tiring, you know.” Her eyes dropped on a patch of grass between them and she started to tug at the weed, keeping her hands busy, focusing on the feeling. “The fear,” she added after a bit.

Arthur stayed silent, and she felt his attention on her, knowing he was watching her scars. “I know,” he replied in the end, and she knew he really did.

“I just want to get past it.” She looked up at him, meeting his blue eyes, the same color as the sky in this strange hour, when the sun still hadn’t risen but was soon to come out. “Try, at least.”

He hummed again, stretching a hand to ruffle at her hair – as if her bed head really needed that. “‘Kay,” he said, smiling fondly. “I’ll watch your back.” She softly chuckled at his wording, but knew he really meant it. “I’m proud of you, you know that?”

She felt her cheeks get really warm, and her head shrunk between her shoulder, not used to the words. It wasn’t the first time he told her that: he said it when she started to read by herself, when her aiming got better, when riding Prince became just as natural as walking. It seemed important to him, to say it, as if he never got the words himself, or not enough. It always made her feel weird. Happy and embarrassed.

His soft smile turned into a smirk, making a bit fun of her, before rising up on his bed, stretching again profusely, until a loud _crack_ resonated in his back. Cassiopeia made a face at the sound, always hating when Arthur was creaking his joints. “Com’on,” he asserted, turning back to her. “Let’s get up. I got my nephew to see again.”

They got ready pretty quickly, with years of habit behind them, but Cassiopeia didn’t manage to smooth down her hair, hiding the tufts under her hat, Arthur making fun of her. She rolled her eyes at him and his never-a-strand-out-of-place hair, and that just made him laugh more.

When they finally got to the house, Cassiopeia was one step behind Arthur, just in case. John was already awake, like he usually was, a smoking cup of coffee in hand, leaning on the railing of the porch. And this time, a woman was beside him, leaning a bit on his shoulder, talking quietly.

“There she is,” Arthur let out, not too loud to not wake everyone up, but loud enough to be heard.

Abigail immediately looked up at them, a smile spreading on her lips, and she left John’s side to reach them, almost running. Cassiopeia was expecting her to lunge at Arthur with a hug, but she stopped a few steps in front of them, watching him up and down. Cassiopeia noticed the many freckles she had in the rising sun, the light shining bright in her very blue-green eyes and on her braided black hair. Arthur didn’t move under her gaze, only putting his knuckles on his hips, probably smiling at her, like he had at Uncle.

Tears gathered in Abigail’s eyes, and her smile widened with relief and sadness mixed. “Oh, Arthur,” she whispered, finally crossing the few feet between them, and lightly putting her hands on his arms. “I’ll never thank you enough, Arthur, never.”

“Oh, I ain’t needin’ any thanks,” Arthur laughed, taking a hold of her shoulders. “You bein’ alive, with Jack and this dumb head of his is all I need,” he lightly joked, pointing at John’s with his chin.

“Hey,” John tried to call, but they both ignored him.

“You silly man,” she chuckled heartily, slapping his chest and smirking, before letting go of him.

Then she turned to her and Cassiopeia had to fight against the urge to hide behind Arthur like a child. “You must be Cassiopeia,” Abigail said, smiling at her, hands on her hips.

“Hi,” she squeaked, and immediately turned red at the sound. She wasn’t five anymore, for God’s sake!

Abigail’s smile only grew softer. “John told us about Rufus. You won’t have to worry about him, we’ll keep him inside as long as you need.”

Cassiopeia heaved a sigh of relief, realizing she’d been scared John’s family could hate her for her fear. But despite the gratefulness, she knew that it couldn't be healthy for a dog to be caged like that. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, maybe tell that she could leave for a few hours everyday so Rufus could run around, but the door of the house opened with a loud creak.

“No boy, you stay inside,” came Jack’s smooth voice, followed by a loud bark.

Cassiopeia’s heart stopped for a long second and her hand shot to Arthur’s, grasping it tightly. He squeezed it gently, subtly moving himself between her and the door. But the wooden frame only shut softly, followed by the sound of claws on the floor fading away.

“Hey, son,” came John’s voice, sounding a bit on edge. Abigail sighed beside them.

“Morning, sir.” She frowned at the title, focusing on their voices instead of the fear, and then on footsteps. She moved herself out of Arthur’s back, trying to see what was happening, but only saw Jack disappearing at the corner of the house.

A few seconds passed in silence, and Cassiopeia let go of Arthur’s hand when she felt him get tensed.

“’Sir’?” he let out in an angry voice. “ _Sir?_ ” he added, louder.

“I—” John started, but Arthur didn’t let him talk.

“Cass’ calls me _Pa’_ , and your _own son_ calls you _sir?_ What the heck happened?!”

Cassiopeia strategically retreated away from Arthur and his anger, John trying to defend himself along with Abigail. She looked at them for a few seconds and decided to go look for Jack instead of listening to all this adult talk.

She walked on the other side of the house, not daring to follow Jack’s path and attract Rufus attention – hearing him shuffling inside the house was already enough for her. She turned around the whole house, not seeing anyone, not even Uncle sleeping in his usual spot. She could still hear Arthur’s and John’s voice arguing over the sounds of the cattle, but didn’t listen to them.

It was the sound of turning pages that caught her attention. She turned around, spotting legs under a tree, and they were too short to be Uncle’s. Carefully, she walked to them, both excited and scared to finally meet Jack.

Cassiopeia found him deep into a book, so deep he didn’t even hear her when she got in front of him. He had blond hair, a bit shorter than her, looking a like Arthur’s, and brown eyes, lighter than Charles, reminding her of dark amber. He had light freckles, just like Abigail, and had John’s high cheekbones. Yet, he didn’t exactly look like his parents, either.

She bent her head to catch the title of his book, but his hand was covering it. “What’re you reading?”

Jack jumped at her question, looking up at her in utter surprise, and she raised both of her hands, taking one step backward. “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He deflated, looking a bit worried, and closed his book. “It’s okay,” he replied in the end, folding his legs under him.

Cassiopeia pressed her lips together, feeling like she had failed this already. She took a breath, trying to ease her worries, and bent on her knees, staying up on her toes, and extended a hand to him. “I’m Cassiopeia Reinhold,” she told him. It’s been a while since she had used her mother’s last name. Hers.

Jack frowned a bit at her, then looked at her hand. For a few seconds, she thought he wouldn’t take it, but then he smirked. “John ‘Jack’ Jr Marston,” he said, holding her hand and shaking it lightly. “Jack is shorter,” he added.

She snorted, really not expecting that, and shook his hand too, before taking hers back. She sat in front of him, legs crossed in front of her and smirked back. “Guess you can call me Cass’, then.” He wasn’t Arthur, or Jamie, or Charles, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Jack chuckled, less tensed than before. “Alright, Cass’,” and it sounded right.

She smiled at him, and her eyes got back to the book. “So, what are you reading?”

“Oh.” He looked down at the book. “It’s about King Arthur and his quest of the Grail.”

“Pff, the what now? And who’s this King Arthur?”

And Jack explained the story to her, at least parts of it. He told her about Arthur’s knights and friends, about the Round Table, the Lady of the Lake, the quest they had to fulfill for their religious belief, how God apparently wanted them to find this golden cup that had contained the Christ’s blood.

“That sounds both complicated and interesting,” Cassiopeia said at the end.

“It is,” Jack smiled, entertained about the story, and happy to be listened to. She smiled back, delighted by his excitement. “Do you read?” he asked then, probably out of curiosity.

“Eh, not enough,” she pouted, letting her chin fall on her palm, elbow on her thigh. “Can’t carry that much books when all of your things gotta stay on horseback.” Jack hummed, probably understanding what she meant. “Do you have many?”

“Some,” he said, shrugging. “More about King Arthur and others about gunslingers. But, once you see how gunfights really happen, they get a bit boring,” he tried to laugh, but there was an edge in it that she could understand. She’d seen gunfight herself, though Arthur always made sure she was safe, and they weren’t pretty. “What are yours about?” Jack added, turning to her with a bright light in his eyes.

“They’re tales,” she explained, excited to share her stories too. “All from the same author, a guy named Andersen. They’re all a bit sad and strange, but interesting. I’ve got The Snow Queen, The Little Mermaid, and Thumbelina,” she counted on her fingers. They had other books, but they were much simpler, helping her to learn how to read, so they weren’t actually great. “I could lend them to you, if you want.”

“Sure,” Jack said with a wide smile. “Same from me.”

Cassiopeia chuckled. “Not the gunslinger ones. Already seen some,” she added with a smirk, and though Jack’s smile fell a bit, it still felt genuine.

“There you are!” Arthur’s voice startled them both, and they saw the man coming to them with a wide smile. “Been lookin’ for ya everywhere!”

“Well, you found us now,” Cassiopeia smirked, standing up. Jack did the same next to her, folding his book against his chest, not smiling anymore and looking a bit pale.

“Jack, mah boy,” Arthur crooned, arms opened. He probably saw the look on his nephew’s face, because he slowed down a bit, before finally getting to them. A slowly moved his hands to Jack’s shoulders, and let them fall lightly on them, as to not startle him. “Lemme take a look at you,” he kept going, watching Jack up and down. She saw the fond light in his eyes, and how soft his smile grew. Jack was still clutching at his book, and seemed uncomfortable under Arthur’s studying, but he was a little less pale, watching Arthur as much as him.

“Damn,” Arthur let out in the end, emotion in his voice. “How much you’ve grown since I last saw you.”

“Well, I’m—” Jack started, before stopping abruptly, as if he couldn’t get the words out. Arthur stroked his arms a bit, before letting go and getting away from his personal space, probably thinking he was overwhelming him. With the way Jack sighed, he was probably right. “I’m twelve, now,” he finally finished, voice small.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied. “You are. Time flies, doesn’t it?”

Jack shrugged at that, a small smile creeping at his lips. “I guess.”

“Sure,” he growled with a chuckle. “Hell, is it good to see you, boy.”

Jack’s smile grew a bit, and his hold on his book loosen. “It’s good to see you too, Uncle Arthur.”

Arthur took a quick breath in and Cassiopeia hid a small chuckle under a cough. She was definitely going to use that against him one day.

He cleared his throat, hooking his thumbs on his belt, trying to erase the emotions from his features, but unable to erase the flustered smile on his lips. “A’right,” he said, a bit gruff. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He tipped his hat at them, Cassiopeia letting out a small snort, and turned around, going to the horse’s pen. She spotted Charles in the distance, apparently looking at them.

“He’s so silly,” she said to Jack, smirking at him. “Say, you wanna meet my horse? His name’s Prince.”

“Prince?” Jack turned to her, chuckling. “Isn’t it a bit pompous?”

She took his hand in hers and started to lead him toward the stables “You’ll understand once you see him.”

***

A few days passed, and as Cassiopeia started to get used to Rufus presence in the ranch, the dog getting out a few times per day, she also started to get a real friend in Jack.

She never would have guessed how fun it could be to have someone her age around, and how stupid she could be just because of it. Arthur drew the limit of it when she tried to climb very high in a tree under Jack’s dare, and fell off of it. She wasn’t hurt, except for her pride, but Arthur had been scared to death.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” Jack told her when Arthur had finally stopped scolding them both, a bit angry, but mostly worried.

She huffed, arms crossed. “He frets too much,” she said, watching him going to Charles. He welcomed Arthur with a pat on his back, as her father figure threw his hands in the sky in exasperation. “I’ve been through worse.” Didn’t mean she would do it again. She didn’t like to worry Arthur more than necessary.

“Hm,” Jack hummed, crossing his arms too, standing next to her. Like that, the top of his head reached her nose.

“Alright, let’s go catch bugs.”

“Sure.”

Cassiopeia added all of them into her journal and Jack scared John with a green spider. They laughed so hard he didn’t even have the time to get mad at them.

Other than doing stupid things, they also started to read next to each other. Jack was much faster than her, reading her three tales in no time when she was struggling with just one of his books. The typography was tiny and there were many words she didn’t know, but Jack was helping her along the way, not mocking her for her reading skills. One time, she felt eyes on her as Jack was explaining what dubbing was – a strange concept including a sword and promises to be a knight – and when she lifted her head, she saw Arthur watching them from afar, chickens around him, smiling. She smiled back and waved a hand at him, which he answered, before turning back to the chickens, throwing grains around him.

“You listening?”

“Yeah, sorry, got distracted.”

From time to time, Abigail would fret over them, urging them to do something useful, like helping around or waking up Uncle to force him to do something, for once.

“They don’t want us to help,” Cassiopeia pouted, pointing at John, Charles and Arthur arguing around the cattle.

“But maybe _I_ do,” Abigail smirked, arms crossed

Cassiopeia's eyes widened, and with how Abigail snorted, they were probably shining. “With what?” she asked, eager to help someone.

“I heard you wasn’t so bad at cooking.”

“Well, not as bad as you,” Cassiopeia joked, grinning.

“Ugh, you teenagers,” Abigail grunted, but still smiling.

Cassiopeia had never eaten something so bad before eating Abigail’s weird creation, and she was happy to teach her some of her tricks. She had learnt to cook during her time with the Sisters, never satisfied with her work, always trying to improve to finally be fed, and changing those memories into something warmer, around a family she actually loved, was a balm to her heart.

And everyone was grateful when Abigail finally cooked something edible.

***

“John Marston!” Abigail called from the porch.

Jack and Cassiopeia were both sitting on stairs, deep into a science book about animals that Arthur had found somewhere in his satchel. They both looked at her, hearing the note of anger in her voice. Jack winced beside her and whispered a quiet “Not again.”

“What?” John shot back, wheelbarrow in hand, full of things Cassiopeia didn’t want to name.

“As much as I love you, you idiot, this house is _empty_ ,” Abigail explained, hands on her hips, frowning at John. “We need actual _furniture_.”

“And with which money do I buy it, woman?” John grumbled loudly enough to be heard. “The beds was expensive enough…”

Cassiopeia sighed, tired by their arguing. She could understand how Jack felt, if it had always been like that.

She suddenly spotted something moving, at the corner of her eye, and when she turned around, she was surprised to see a wagon coming to them, two strangers on its seat. She stood up on the stairs, Jack following the movement, and Abigail got down of the porch, a worried frown between her eyes.

“Mrs Milton!” called one of the strangers, a young man with short black hair and a red neckerchief around his neck. The other one seemed to be a kid. He waved at them, and Abigail’s shoulders slump in relief. Cassiopeia guessed she knew them.

“Duncan, Angus!” John called them, running to them as the two men parked the wagon in front of the house. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“An’ you too, Mister Milton.” Cassiopeia arched an eyebrow at the name; wasn’t it the same name as this Pinkerton Agent who almost killed Arthur? “Quite the house you made!”

“Yeah,” John answered, sheepish, scratching the back of his head.

“Our father sent us,” explained the older one, getting down. She guessed they were brothers.

“Mister Geddes? Why?”

“Well, Ma and him found ol’ things in the attic, thought you could give it a second life.”

“Really?” Abigail closed the few feet between the house and the wagon, taking at look at all the things inside. She looked ecstatic. “How kind of them!”

“Does your mother have some kind of magic power?” Cassiopeia asked Jack. “She really summoned them.”

“Sometimes, I wonder.”

They all helped settle everything around the house, letting Rufus run around the ranch with Uncle while John and Abigail left to do something in Blackwater. Arthur had a knowing smile when he watched them leave, but Cassiopeia didn’t really think much about it, helping Jack to decorate his bedroom and discovering all the books the Geddes brothers had brought.

She understood later when they were gathered around the campfire. Arthur and Charles were sitting next to each other on a trunk, Cassiopeia at Arthur’s feet, leaning on his legs, Jack and Uncle were playing some strange board game she didn’t bother to understand, and Abigail was sitting on John’s lap, on a box himself.

Cassiopeia was focused on the journal in her hand, trying to sketch them and the easy smile on their lips when John suddenly cleared his throat. She looked up at him, and he was pushing Abigail out of him, before standing beside her.

“A’right, we…” he started, then stopped. Blushed hard enough that even the night couldn’t hide it. Abigail laughed at him, taking his hand in hers. And Cassiopeia noticed the ring around her finger.

“We’re going to get married,” Abigail softly said, watching them with the biggest smile Cassiopeia had seen on her. She giggled, as if this was still new to her as well.

“What?” Jack gasped. “For real?” He stood up, joining his parents, grabbing Abigail’s hand.

“Yeah,” John answered, his voice a bit higher than usual.

“Wasn’t you already married?” Cassiopeia asked, confused. Abigail’s last name was Marston, wasn’t it?

“Not legally.” Oh, that explained everything.

“Congratulations,” Arthur suddenly said, lifting his cup of coffee to them, grinning.

“You knew about this!” Cassiopeia realized, remembering his look in the afternoon.

“Sure,” he smirked, then pointed at Abigail’s ring. “This was Mary’s.”

Abigail gasped, her cheerful expression turning to horror. “Oh Lord,” She made a move to take the ring off, but Arthur was on her before she could, gently taking her hand.

“I can’t have it,” she tried to argue, but Arthur softly shushed her.

“’Course you can. It can’t serve its purpose with me anymore.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Abigail breathed, tears in her eyes.

He briefly hugged her, rubbing her back, before letting go and patting John’s shoulder. “If you make her sad, I kick your ass.”

John laughed, the sound a bit strangled by emotions. “Sure thing, Arthur.”

“I say,” Uncle intervened, taking a banjo out of nowhere, “that this call for a party!”

“Where did you find that thing?” Cassiopeia asked, pointing at the instrument. Could he even play it?

“In the things those Geddes boys brought.” He softly played a few notes, before starting on a soft tune. “I ain’t Javier, but I can play just well!”

From that point, someone brought alcohol around and they all started to drink, except for her and Jack. Uncle played songs all the adults and Jack knew by heart, apparently some sort of tradition, and Cassiopeia tried to scribble the lyrics in her journal, for the next time. Hearing Arthur sing was strange, but hearing Charles was even stranger, the man having such a deep voice that everything became very smooth.

Late into the night, when Cassiopeia and Jack were both leaning on each other and almost sleeping, Uncle started to play more soft tunes, going along with the sleepiness. Cassiopeia was staring at the fire, lost in thought, when she saw John and Abigail pass in front of her, swiftly dancing, and when she looked up at them, they were smiling so fondly at each other that she felt like witnessing something she wasn’t supposed to see.

Very much awake now, she looked around, seeing Charles sitting by the trunk, back on it, also watching the couple with a soft smile, and Arthur beside him, his knee brushing Charles’ shoulder. His eyes were on John and Abigail too, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked lost deep in thought, and Cassiopeia frowned a little, wondering what could be going through his mind.

Suddenly, and though he didn’t make any sound, she saw him take a deep breath, holding it for a second, and letting it out in a long sigh. He put the empty whiskey bottle he had in hand on the ground and stood up, startling Charles, who looked up at him.

Arthur grinned at him, something very soft in his eyes, and extended a hand. “Wanna dance, Charles?” he asked quietly, his voice a bit gruff. Cassiopeia didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol or something else.

She saw Charles’ eyes slightly widened, going from Arthur’s face to his hand, as if not believing it. Then he smiled, something so gentle and tender she felt herself blush. “Sure,” he answered, taking Arthur’s hand.

Uncle snorted softly, and slowed his tune.

She watched them as Arthur placed a hand on Charles' hips, still holding his hand, while Charles put his on Arthur’s shoulder. They started to rock to the music, eyes locked with each other, smiling. It felt even more alien to Cassiopeia than John and Abigail. Did Jack feel like that every time he saw his parents being sweet?

They danced like that for a few minutes, not as expressive as John and Abigail, staying in their corner of the campfire, but Cassiopeia’s eyes were glued to them. This felt like the culmination of something that had been growing for weeks, months, maybe years. And yet, with how cautious they were, she wondered if anything would happen. If they would just dance and be happy with it or if they would finally come to terms with their relationship, taking it one step forward instead of standing still in the middle of their own storm.

She started to doze again, tiredness catching up on her, head falling on Jack, when Uncle changed his tune again. Her eyes cracked open, awakened by the change, realizing it was something they sang earlier, but slower and softer. She rubbed at her eyes, yawning deeply, and looked back at Arthur and Charles, wondering if they were still dancing.

They weren’t. They had stopped, only holding each other, their chest almost touching. The banjo kept playing in the background, but they seemed to have forgotten everything around, staring at each other.

And Arthur kissed Charles.

It was just a peck, barely brushing their lips, but Cassiopeia still had to fight the urge to loudly gasp, fearing of ruining the moment.

Charles stared at Arthur for long seconds, looking paralyzed, while Arthur started to blush very hard. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologize, while backing away, when Charles suddenly grabbed Arthur’s face and kissed him back. Arthur made a surprised sound, his hat falling off, eyes wide, before closing them and hugging Charles against him, deepening the kiss.

“Oh, God, gross,” Cassiopeia grumbled, turning away. It wasn’t, exactly, but she still felt very uncomfortable watching them.

Uncle snorted at her, waking Jack in a start, while Arthur and Charles broke apart, both laughing. “About time!” Uncle joked, speeding the beat on his banjo.

“It sure is,” Arthur mumbled, hiding his face on Charles’ neck as if he had always wanted to do that – and it was probably the case. Charles only chuckled, holding him close, kissing his hair line and passing a hand through Arthur’s hair.

“You’re disgusting,” Cassiopeia said. She didn’t know if she really meant it, but Arthur was acting _cute_ and that was something she never saw.

Arthur groaned against Charles, probably mocking her.

Well. She’ll get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's reaction about Jack calling John "sir" is literally me, and as much as I wanted to address it in there, I couldn't fit it in the story (but who knows, maybe one shot will show up)
> 
> Also, I can't tell you how much I love Cass' and Jack's friendship
> 
> AND YES, FINALLY THEY KISSED


	14. To Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bernard Werber is a contemporary french author, but do I really care? I loved The Ants, even though it's absolutely weird, but all of his books are anyway

“Hey Cass’.”

Cassiopeia looked up at Arthur from under her tree, tearing her eyes from the book in her lap. “Hey,” she smiled.

He lowered himself to the ground, sitting beside her, eyes on the pages. “What’re you readin’?”

“I’m not sure,” she frowned, showing the cover. “It’s a story about ants and there’s a conspiracy, and also humans trying to solve some mysterious puzzle… It’s strange, honestly.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he chuckled, squinting at the cover. “Who’s this Bernard Werber?”

“I don’t know, I think he’s French.”

“Oh,” he grunted dramatically. “French people are all weird.”

“Are they?”

“Yeah. Met one in Saint Denis, a crazy fella, really. Had to fight for him, so his sorry ass coul’ escape this fuckin’ city.”

“’Course you did,” Cassiopeia giggled, easily picturing Arthur brawling for a strange French guy.

Arthur fighting wasn’t something she’d never seen, but he tried not to do it too much, around her or at all. It always left him with blood all over his hands and face, and coughing harder than usual.

“Anyway.” He scratched at his thin beard – apparently, Charles liked his cheeks this way, and she couldn’t really argue with that. Cassiopeia squinted at him at the gesture, wondering if he had just come to check on her or if he was going to ask her something.

She placed her bookmark into the book, an eagle feather Charles had gifted her, and closed it, so she could cross her arms and raise an eyebrow at Arthur. “Yes?”

“Don’t ya look at me like that, kid,” he chuckled, pushing her with his shoulder. “Whatcha say about a ride? Kinda left Prince and Artemis alone, those days.”

She brightened at the idea. “Right now?”

“Sure,” he chuckled again, standing up.

She followed his lead, tucking her book away at the same time. “Is Charles coming?”

“No,” Arthur softly said, pushing her hat over her eyes. “Jus’ the two of us.”

She frowned while pushing her hat back, a bit confused. “Why?”

“Left ya a bit alone, those days,” he confessed, holding her shoulder, squeezing lightly. Since Charles and him finally started to date, to everyone’s relief, Arthur had spent a lot of time with him, but she couldn’t blame him for that. 

She only hummed at that, smiling comfortingly at him, trying to ease the worry lines on his forehead. If he spent most of his time with Charles, she had spent most of hers with Jack. He hadn’t really left her alone.

They rode into the Great Plains, leaving Beecher’s Hope around noon; Artemis and Prince were more than happy to carry them into the wild, avoiding the road. Arthur led them at a slow pace through the hills, allowing Cassiopeia to watch the pronghorns curiously, along with deer and rabbits. She even saw bison in the far distance, and she got her binoculars out when she spotted birds in the sky, recognizing a bald eagle and crows.

She had missed this.

They decided to stop near the Upper Montana River, dismounting and allowing the horses to graze around the river bank. While Arthur got food out of the bags on Artemis’ back, Cassiopeia quickly got rid of her shoes and socks, rolling her black jeans on her calves before stepping into the cold water. She moved her toes in the sand, letting them sink in it, and watched small fish scattering around, afraid of her giant form.

She stayed there for a while, walking around in the clear water and taking pretty rocks from the ground to show them to Jack. She got her pants wet in the process, but she didn’t care.

“Y’are scaring all the fish away,” came Arthur’s voice beside her, bare feet in the river.

“What, you wanted to fish?” Cassiopeia huffed a laugh, mocking him. “You’re terrible at it.”

“Ain’t the only one”, he chuckled, elbowing her lightly. She just elbowed him back.

She followed him to the shore, sitting beside him on a patch of green and thick grass. Arthur handed her a seasoned piece of meat, along with an opened can of peaches and they both silently started to eat.

Once they finished, she laid down on the grass, hands behind her head and hat beside her, smiling as Arthur got up, taking his fishing pole out and walking back into the river. She knew he wasn’t doing it only to catch fish - because he never was good at it anyway - but also to anchor himself into the present, doing something that needed his whole attention.

Cassiopeia slowly felt all her muscles relax as time passed. She realized how tense she still was, despite feeling comfortable in the ranch, knew it was because of Rufus. She had started to feel better around him, the dog mostly leaving her alone and playing with Jack, but she still wasn’t completely at ease with him, still a bit anxious. Being there, so far away from the ranch, and just being with Arthur, she felt like coming back home.

Her mind probably drifted away for a long time, because she heard Arthur’s heavy footstep coming back to her. He usually took his time when fishing. Maybe she fell asleep.

She rose up on the ground when she heard him sitting beside her and frowned at his tired sigh. “What’s happening?” she asked, feeling that something wasn’t exactly right. Arthur usually was in a good mood after fishing.

He turned his eyes to her, and she knew he was about to ask her something important, it was written all over his face. “What d’you think of Beecher’s Hope, Cass’?” he said, and she really wasn’t prepared for that.

“I…” she started, unsure of how to answer. “It’s a nice place.”

“Would you like us to stay here?”

She frowned at him again, in confusion this time, not sure of where this was going. “You mean, forever?” He only shrugged, which didn’t really answer her question, but still felt like nodding at it.

Cassiopeia tried to picture herself growing up and aging in the ranch and felt herself shudder to the idea. “No”, she answered in a small voice, gathering her knees to her chest.

“Why?” He didn’t sound upset or accusing.

“I don’t know, it’s just—” She waved her hand around, struggling to find the right words. “It feels like we’re— staying still, or something.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow, looking like he didn’t understand. “Still?”

“Yeah.” She groaned. “It’s hard to explain… Maybe I got used to just, move around. I mean, I like the ranch, it’s a nice place, but it’s…”

“It’s just one place,” Arthur finished when words failed her, and there was understanding in his tone. She nodded, and he nodded back, a small smile growing on his lips. “Yeah, I know what ya mean.”

Her heart felt lighter at his words, but she still didn’t fully understand what was happening. “Why do you ask?”

Arthur let out a small sigh, rubbing at the back of his head, under the edge of his hat. “I never stayed in one place either,” he admitted. “Not so long. And not since my momma died, at least.” Something hard appeared in his voice at that, and Cassiopeia’s eyes widened; Arthur never mentioned his parents before. She suddenly wondered what they looked like, and if Arthur had their features. “I like the ranch too,” he added. “And John and Jack and Abigail. Hell, even Uncle. They’re my family. They’re your family too.” 

Cassiopeia nodded at that; of course they were. She didn’t know them since very long, but Jack was her best friend, Uncle had nice – even if strange – stories to tell, and John and Abigail were nice to her. And Charles, well, she loved him, really.

“I’m no rancher,” he kept going. “This kind of life, it don’t suits me. Or not yet. But.” He locked eyes with her, and she could almost spot all the dots of green in the sunlight. “If you’d wanted to stay, I’d’ve stay too.”

“But I don’t,” she said, scooting closer to him until his thigh touched hers.

He chuckled, passing a hand through her shoulders and lightly hugging her. “Still had to ask.”

“Does that mean we’re leaving?”

“Not right away. Gotta be here for John and Abigail’s weddin’, dontchu think?”

“Right,” she laughed. She wouldn’t miss this for anything.

A sudden thought crossed her mind then, and she turned sharp eyes toward Arthur. He only raised an eyebrow at her, confused. She stared at him for a few seconds, pondering her words. “What?” he asked in the end, voice guff.

“Are you—” She stopped, feeling her ear getting warm under the question. Arthur squeezed her shoulder, encouraging her to talk. “Are you going to marry Charles?”

“Uh, well—” His hat’s shadow was covering most of his face, but it didn’t hide his blush. Cassiopeia couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of her, quickly putting a hand over her mouth to muffle it. Arthur groaned, letting go of her and crossing his arms over his chest. He cleared his throat. “It’s illegal,” he asserted, but that sounded a bit hollow.

“Because it stopped you before?” she laughed, elbowing his thigh to make his frown disappear.

He sighed as it deepened. “Ain’t it a bit soon to talk ‘bout that? Is it even your business?” His voice sounded a bit hard and she shrunk her head between her shoulders, losing her smile.

“Was just curious,” she said, voice smaller, eyes going to the river.

He deflated a bit next to her, sighing again, something heavier in the sound. He uncrossed his arms and brought her to his chest, ruffling her hair. “I know you was,” he said softly, and she heard the apology in his tone. “Would you like us to be married?”

He sounded hesitant. She tucked her head under his chin. “It’s your choice,” she answered, eyes still on the flowing water. “But I wouldn’t mind.”

A comfortable silence fell on them, only broken by the sound of the Montana River, Artemis snoring at Prince who was playing in the water, the wind blowing warmly on them. Cassiopeia could hear Arthur’s beating heart and he could probably feel hers in his palm against her back. Two hearts, pulsing softly in a knowing rhythm, a duo for so long they knew the music, even blindfolded.

But even after the time they spent together, something was now missing.

“Arthur,” she said, pushing herself from his chest. She met his eyes as he hummed questioningly. “Charles will come with us, right?” she asked. Hoped.

“If he wants to,” Arthur answered in the same hoping tone, and she knew he hadn’t talked to Charles yet.

They both jumped at Prince’s neigh, turning to the horses. It wasn’t a scared sound, nor a completely alarmed one, but it still wasn’t the happy noise they were used to.

They became very still when they spotted a lone bison marching on the other side of the river, not stopping to eat or drink. He was just walking slowly, comfortable in his strength and in a place that was rightfully his. Arthur and Cassiopeia breathed very quietly, completely mesmerized by the side of the animal, the power radiating from him.

Slowly, very slowly, Arthur took his journal out, opening it quietly. Yet, the sound of the turning pages attracted the bison’s attention and suddenly, his dark eyes were on them. Cassiopeia felt like he was looking into her very soul as Arthur started to sketch him, eyes barely leaving him, quickly putting the moment into the paper.

It probably only lasted seconds, and yet it felt like eternity. Then he huffed, the sound very low and loud, rumbling through their whole being as the bison turned his big head around and started to trot away, leaving them completely awestruck.

“Well, shit,” Arthur murmured after a moment, pen hovering over the page, the drawing still a bit unfinished. He quickly started to draw again before the memory failed him.

She couldn’t answer; it was just the most awesome thing she’d ever witnessed.

***

_ Thud _ .

Jack gasped beside her. “Look, I did it!”

“Well done!” Cassiopeia smiled, going to the tree in front of them to retrieve all the knives on the ground and the two planted on the trunk; one was hers, all the others were Jack’s. “You got the hang of it.”

She gave him one so he could do it again. Eyes glued on the tree, hand steady, he lifted the knife in the air, before throwing it at the tree.

The handle hit the trunk and the weapon fell to the floor.

Jack clicked his tongue. “Dang it.”

“Don’t worry,” Cassiopeia chuckled. “Can’t succeed every time after just one good shot.” She took one from her hand, and in a quick and practiced motion, threw it to the target, the blade going right through the wood.

“Maybe it’s just not for me,” he tried to argue, but took another knife anyway. “Did Arthur teach you that?”

“No, I kinda learn by myself. I was…” The words almost failed her as faces appeared in front of her, strangers she never knew the name of, but she shook herself out of it. “I was young.”

“Jack!” Abigail’s voice startled them, and they both turned around to see her walking to them with a smile. It immediately fell when she spotted the knives. “What are you  _ doing  _ with those?”

Cassiopeia felt Jack getting really tensed beside her and knew he was going to throw a lie – Jack was a very good liar – but lying to a parent was always a bad idea. “I’m teaching him how to throw knives,” she blurted. Jack turned a betrayed look at her and she winked at him.

Abigail gaped at them. “You’re  _ what? _ ”

“It’s just self-defense,” she justified. She wasn’t worried in the slightest; Cassiopeia knew how to handle knives and she wouldn’t do something that could harm Jack. “And I’m good with knives.” As to show it, she threw another one at the tree, almost without looking, and a loud  _ thud _ echoed between them.

“I’m not,” Jack sighed, shoulders low against his mother’s gaze.

Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose, as if she couldn’t believe what they were doing. She sighed deeply at them, eyes meeting theirs. “Just—” she started, hand flat above the ground in an asserting motion. “Just be careful.”

“Of course,” they answered in the same voice.

They watched her shake her head in disbelief, hands raised into the air, before she turned around and left them with their tree.

“I can’t believe this just worked,” Jack breathed.

“The truth is always the best way to gain trust,” Cassiopeia said with a confident smile, throwing a knife in the air and catching it swiftly.

“So you never lie to Arthur?” He sounded doubtful.

“Not if it’s something important.” She got the knives back and tucked them in her satchel, figuring they better do something else before  _ John _ found them and be less forgiving than Abigail. “And he doesn’t lie to me either.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “But it don’t mean he tells me everything.” Arthur had his secrets and she had hers, part of her life that no one except her knew about.

“Hm,” Jack only hummed, apparently not believing her. Well, she knew the truth, so she couldn’t really care. “I’m going to let Rufus out,” he said then, changing the subject. “Do you wanna come?”

Jack always asked her that question whenever he was taking care of Rufus. She had tried, once, to get closer to the dog, hoping she could maybe pet him, but her fear had settled hard on her, and she never did it again. She was fine with him running around the ranch if he didn’t get close and if she knew about it, but that was all.

She shook her head, and Jack nodded, understanding. “See ya later then,” he smiled, waving at her, then trotted away, leaving her alone.

She waved back, her smile a bit smaller, until she saw him disappear at a corner of the house. She deflated then, not really knowing what to do. She didn’t feel like bothering Uncle, even if that always led to fun stories about the gang, and Arthur was out for the day, gone to buy supplies into Blackwater. He had asked if she wanted to come, but playing with Jack sounded more appealling at the time.

She sighed, looking around her, trying to spot any activity that could keep her busy, but was only met with the sight of the already cleaned barn, the fed chickens and the emptiness of the ranch.

_ What about Charles? _ said a tiny voice in her mind, and, yes, what about Charles? He probably wasn’t out hunting, with Arthur gone. They had apparently decided that at least one of them had to stay in the ranch with her, with Rufus around, just in case she panicked again. Arthur was still the best to take care of that, used to it as he was, but Charles was slowly getting to know how to soothe her with soft words and gentle touches.

Cassiopeia settled on finding him; maybe they could go hunting together, or just shooting arrows at a target. She was getting better with a bow, but wasn’t exactly there yet; Charles said it took years of practice and she was dedicated to become good at it.

Walking around, she spotted him sitting on a large crate near the horses’ pen, craving something with a small knife. He seemed deeply focused and she grinned to herself, making herself small and walking quietly on the creaking yellow grass of the ranch. She made a big circle around him to come in his back, as silent as possible, slowly going to him. When she finally reached him, quite sure she was going to startle him, she took a silent deep breath and—

“I heard you,” Charles said, a smile in his voice.

—she let go of it in a loud huff, standing up straighter behind him. “You’re no fun,” she complained, going to sit on the crate next to him.

“And you’re too loud,” he explained in a patient tone. “But you’re making progress.”

She smiled at that, letting her head fall in her palm, elbow on her knee. “What are you doing?” she asked, not able to identify what Charles was craving. The big piece of wood was too big for arrows.

“I don’t know yet,” he answered, glancing at her once before setting his eyes back on his work. “Only the wood knows.”

Cassiopeia frowned, not sure if she understood. “That’s a… strange phrasing,” she said in the end.

Charles chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and really looked at her. The sun was high and she could spot the one patch of green in his eye in the warm light. “It’s a thing my mother used to tell me,” he replied, a smile in his gaze. “That when you sculpt a material, you’re revealing the true nature of it, letting it out into the world.”

That was an interesting point of view. “So, there’s already something into that,” she tried to summarize, pointing at the piece, “and you just wait for it to reveal itself?”

“Not wait,” he smiled, eyes going back to the wood. “I’m working it out.”

She hummed, looking at the piece in his big hands. It didn’t look like anything yet, but Charles was carving it gently here and there, letting smaller pieces fall into the ground. The knife was doing a soft sound against the wood, and she felt hypnotized by the sight. Charles didn’t seem to mind her, as he slowly kept going, the sharp weapon cutting easily into it.

The wind suddenly blew on them, a bit stronger then usual, and a strand of hair fell into Charles’ vision. He puffed at it, pushing it away, but it came back right into his face. He frowned at it and he let go of his knife to tuck it behind his ear.

Cassiopeia’s attention was now on his very long hair – they reached his lower back by now, and she wondered if he would cut it to something more practical. That would be a shame, honestly; Charles’ hair was just too pretty to be cut short.

“Can I braid your hair?” she suddenly asked, looking back at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her, stopping his work. “Do you know how?” he asked after a silence.

“Yeah, my Ma’ taught me.” She pondered on her words for a second, chewing on her lip. “I used to braid her hair, when I was young.” Her mother had dark hair, just like her, and she wore them very long. She remembered she took great pride in her hair, always taking good care of it and wearing it untied except to sleep.

Charles stared at her, studying her features, eyes lingering just a bit on her scars, and he nodded, a soft light in his brown eyes. She beamed at that, immediately standing up and getting behind him. She hesitated just a bit before starting to comb the hair with her fingers, the strands very soft on her palms. She worked on them for quite a time, both because it felt nice and because Charles had numerous knots in his hair. As she finally started to part them evenly, she realized her hair was almost the same color as his. Charles’ might be a bit darker.

Cassiopeia braided the hair loosely, letting a small strand fall next to his face, the one where his feathers were attached to it, a comfortable silence settling on them. Charles had stopped his work with his knife, not moving a bit to not disturb her work. He actually seemed to enjoy it as much as her.

Once she reached the end of the strand, she clicked her tongue, annoyed with herself. “I don’t have anything to tie it,” she groaned, about to let go of it all.

“Here,” he said, giving her a small piece of leather under his arm.

She blinked at it, then took it and carefully tied it around the hair, gently finishing the braid. She hooked her hands on her hips, looking at her work with pride; she hadn’t forgotten what her mother taught her.

“Damn,” suddenly came Arthur’s voice, startling her.

Cassiopeia looked up to him, seeing him leaning on the fence not so far from them, and felt herself blush. How long had he been standing here? She couldn’t exactly read his expression, many emotions fighting on his face, but she could discern happiness and fondness on it, along with something she couldn’t name.

“Hey,” Charles said in a low voice, because he obviously had heard him come back and didn’t tell her.

“Hey,” Arthur replied, voice very soft. He closed the distance between them, leaning toward Charles as he kissed him. “Aren’t you beautiful like that.”

“Cassiopeia did all the work,” Charles stated, standing up beside Arthur and kissing him back.

“Yeah, I saw.” Arthur brushed his hand along Charles' arm to his hand, gently taking it in his. “T’was mighty cute.”

She was pretty sure her whole face was red, both because of how touchy-feely they were and because of the praise. She crossed her arms on her chest, shielding herself from the feelings, and turned away, not able to face them.

Arthur only laughed at her, the sound very gentle, before taking a hold of her opposite shoulder, bringing her to his chest. “Mah cute baby,” he teased with a chuckle, planting a kiss on her forehead.

Charles took a sharp breath next to them, but she didn’t take the time to think about it, hitting Arthur’s chest lightly, trying to hide the smile crawling on her lips. “Stop it, you old man! I’m no baby anymore!”

“Oh, right, you’re all  _ grown up _ now.”

“Not that again!” She was really laughing now, the old teasing bringing back soft memories. She let him hug her and she hugged him back, one arm around his chest, pressing her face on him with closed eyes.

Charles huffed a laugh beside them. “Aren’t you two adorable,” he let out in a breath, voice a bit tighter than usual.

She opened her eyes back, looking out at him, the soft smile on his lips, his shining eyes and the tenderness on his face. She reached out with her other hand, grabbing his and squeezing it lightly. He squeezed back, his smile growing fonder.

Cassiopeia closed her eyes again, feeling like she was right where she belonged, in the middle of her found family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two fathers and their daughter being absolutely CUTE


	15. To Spare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not know how anything about horses or hunting, but I _do_ know how to use a bow
> 
> And there's mention of dizziness in this chapter

Cassiopeia took a steady breath, eyes focused in front of her. The string felt familiar on her fingers, along with the tip of the arrow brushing them. The hand holding the bow was starting to feel a bit sore, and she knew she was going to have a bruise on her arm for how much the string hit it already. But she just wanted to draw it one last time.

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing evenly, forgetting everything around her. When she opened them again, she drew the bowstring in a swift movement, focused a moment, and finally let go of it.

The arrow stuck itself in the hay, far away from the center of the target.

She groaned loudly as she let the bow swing beside her, frustrated with herself.

“You’re doing better,” Charles said next to her.

“It don’t feel like it,” she complained, tucking the bow around her and going to retrieve all the arrows. Not all of them were on the hay target, some stuck into the ground – she hoped she'd find all of them – but some were still close to the center or it.

“Archery is a slow process,” Charles said, helping her.

“Except for Arthur,” she scoffed.

Charles tipped his head in a small nod, smiling. “Except for Arthur,” he confirmed.

Once they gathered all the arrows, one being lost in the earth, they stored them in the quiver by her side and pulled the string out of the bow to not strain the wood more than necessary.

“My fingers hurt,” Cassiopeia stated as they walked back to the house. She clenched and unclenched her fist a few times, trying to sooth the pain away. “And my arm too,” she added, pointing at the forming bruise on her forearm.

Charles hummed, apparently not surprised. “I’ll make you protections. And you’ll need a glove. It hurts because the string is cutting through the skin.”

She squinted at him, frowning. “But Arthur doesn’t wear gloves.”

“That’s because he’s a fool,” Charles sighed, apparently well aware of how stupid his partener was.

Cassiopeia snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

The sun was getting low when they reached the campfire, Abigail coming out of the house with a nice-looking meal, walking to the wooden table they had put next to the extinguished fire. The summer solstice was slowly coming and the days were getting longer and longer.

Jack and Uncle were already around the table, a chess board between them. John was coming behind Abigail with plates in his hands, letting Rufus inside of the house and Arthur was laying on the ground, eyes closed. He opened them when he heard them coming back, tried to stand up and failed with a groan.

Charles chuckled at the sight as he came to his rescue, taking a hold of his hand and lifting him up without effort. Cassiopeia rolled her eyes deeply; Arthur wasn’t even  _ that _ stiff.

“Thank you, darling,” Arthur sighed, kissing Charles’ cheek.

“Anytime, dear,” Charles answered, leaning into the touch.

“Lord,” she whispered, going to put her things away before going back to the table, sitting next to Jack. “Who’s winning?”

“Me, obviously,” Uncle laughed confidently.

“Checkmate,” Jack claimed, pushing Uncle’s king out of the board.

“Uh?! You— What?! You cheated!”

“I didn’t!”

“Enough of that, boys,” Abigail said, putting a dish of vegetables beside their board. “Move that, please, we’re about to eat!”

They all settled easily around the table, each of them having a preferred spot; Arthur and Charles were obviously next to each other, just like Abigail and John, Uncle was at the head of the table for some reasons, and Cassiopeia was seated between him and Jack. They talked and laughed as they ate, content with the setting sun illuminating them and the summer heat slowly fading away.

Cassiopeia perked up from her plate when she heard the sound of hooves coming to them, and was surprised to see Sadie coming to them, a smug smile on her face.

“Sadie,” greeted Abigail with a smile, going to meet the woman when she dismounted, hugging her briefly.

“Abigail,” Sadie said. “Everyone.”

“Have a seat, please, I’ll fetch another plate,” Abigail kept going, already walking to the house.

“No need, Abigail. I just came with news.” Abigail frowned at her as Sadie turned to their table, hands on her hips and looking very satisfied with herself. She was looking directly at John. “I found him,” she claimed. “I found Micah.”

Cassiopeia saw Abigail turning very pale. “ _ No _ ,” she asserted. She walked to John as the man got up, practically vibrating, and she took a hold of his arm. “ _ John _ .”

“I found a lead,” Sadie kept going. “One of his boys, Cleet, has been seen in Strawberry. But he won’t be here long.”

“When did ya start lookin’ for him?” suddenly came Arthur’s cold voice.

When Cassiopeia turned to him, she got reminded of the first day they met, of how dangerous he had looked when she’d told her she was nine. He had been angered by whatever happened to her, at such a young age, but right now, she couldn’t tell why he was looking like that. If it was because of Micah, who had destroyed his very own life and was now at his reach, or because of Sadie, and the dangerous aura she always carried with her.

“Before I knew you were alive,” Sadie answered, but that didn’t really mean anything. John's demeanor changed at her words, and he focused on Arthur, a frown on his face. “Are you comin’?” she added, waving at both of them and Charles.

No one said a thing for a while as a silence settled on them. Sadie and Arthur were staring at each other, looking like they were having a strange and silent conversation among themselves, when everyone else was looking at Arthur. Charles was holding his hand, a support in whatever decision he was about to take and Abigail was clinging at John’s arm, tears in her eyes.

Cassiopeia’s heartbeat sped up when Arthur’s eyes met hers, holding them for long seconds. He heaved a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before turning back to Sadie.

“No.”

Sadie seemed completely baffled. “What?”

“John,” he kept going, turning to his brother without acknowledging Sadie. “Ya remember what I told you on that mountain?”

“I—” John started, uncomfortable under Arthur’s gaze. “You said a lotta things—”

“Don’t look back,” Arthur said, voice firm. “This,” he added, waving at Sadie and her idea. “This is lookin’ back.”

“Are you serious?” Sadie looked angered now. “He destroyed everything you had, he—!”

“And killin’ him won’t bring anything back, Sadie.” Arthur said, rubbing at his face in a tired motion. “I won’t risk my life again just for the sake of it.”

Sadie growled. “You’ve gone  _ soft _ , Arthur.”

“And what’s wrong ‘bout that? If it allows me to stay alive and watch Cass’ grow up, I’m fine with it.”

Cassiopeia felt her heart ready to burst with joy and she had to fight the tears growing in her eyes. She saw Charles take a deep breath as he squeezed Arthur’s hand, eyes shining with pride.

But the anger on Sadie’s face didn’t disappear. “John,” she called, turning to the man.

He only shook his head, eyes closed. “Arthur’s right.” He opened them back to look at Jack, who took a sharp breath in beside Cassiopeia, before turning back to Sadie. “I’ve built a new life here. Micah ain’t worth destroyin’ it.”

“Oh, John,” Abigail cried, clutching her husband in her arms, burying her face on his shoulder.

“ _ Fine _ ,” Sadie spat in a disgusted tone. “I don’t care what you do, I’ll find this piece of shit myself and I’ll  _ kill him _ .”

She turned around then, marching toward Hera and mounting the mustang in one fluid jump. She spurred the horse, screaming a loud “Hyah!” and they started to run away at full speed, the setting sun casting red light on them as they disappeared.

Cassiopeia turned toward all the adults, expecting them to stop her, but none of them moved. They all seemed stunned, tired looks all over their faces. Arthur let out a loud sigh, rubbing at his face, prompting John to do the same as he and Abigail sat back around the table.

She frowned. “Is no one going to stop her?” she asked, because it felt important.

“We can’t,” Charles answered. “It’s her choice.”

She looked back to where Sadie had left, only leaving a cloud of dust behind her, and she couldn’t help the feeling of wrongness that settled over her heart.

***

Cassiopeia was staring at the night sky, wide awake. Thinking.

Everyone had gone to sleep, except for Arthur and Charles, whispering beside the fire. They had been at it for quite a time, and she knew she had to make up her mind quickly before Arthur joined his bedroll next to her.

She let out a short sigh, upset with herself, before finally getting out of her sleeping bag. She hastily put her clothes on, except for her hat, ripped a page out of her journal and scribbled a short note for Arthur.

_ I’m sorry, but someone has to stop her. _

She glanced at Arthur’s and Charles’ form outside of the tent, sitting side by side, their back to her, tucked the note in her bed and silently made her way to the stable.

If no one was going to stop Sadie, she would.

Prince neighed at her when she reached his stall, and she patted his nose to silence him. She didn’t bother to saddle him; it would take too much time. She only placed his snaffle in his mouth, securing it around his big head.

She jumped at the sound of the door, turning around and expecting Arthur’s disappointed scold, an explanation at the tip of her tongue. It died down when she recognized Jack.

“What are you doing here?!” she whispered loudly, making him jump three feet in the air.

“Cass’!” he called quietly, a hand over his heart. “You scared me!”

“You too!”

Jack looked her up and down, noticing her traveling clothes, and squinted at her. “What are you doing?”

Cassiopeia huffed, opening the stall’s door and leading Prince out of it. “I’m going to find Sadie and stop her.” She pointed a finger at him. “And you can’t stop me.”

Jack held up both of his hands, walking to her. “I ain’t. Was about to do the same.”

“What?” Was he crazy? Jack barely knew how to ride a horse. She shook herself; it wasn’t relevant. “Why?”

“Sadie, she’s—” He cut himself, gulping down. If it wasn’t about a book, Jack wasn’t the talking type, and she took his hand in hers, a silent support. He squeezed it, clearing his throat. “I don’t remember much, but she helped me and Ma. She’s— she’s family, in a way. And I have a bad feeling about— this whole thing.”

Cassiopeia nodded, really understanding what he meant. “Yeah, me too.” She let go of his hand, going to rummage through her saddle to get a rifle out, along with a shotgun. She handed the last to Jack, because he was obviously going to go whatever she said. Better with her than alone. 

He looked at the gun with wide eyes. 

“I know you never used a gun,” she said. “But this is a shotgun; you aim and shoot, that’s all. And it’s just in case.”

Jack stared at it a bit more before taking with both hands, finger off the trigger. Good, at least he wasn’t completely helpless with a gun. “In case of what?” he asked in a tiny voice as Cassiopeia led Prince to the backdoor, opening it quietly.

“Dunno, wolves maybe, or anyone who wants to stop two kids riding alone in the middle of the night.”

Jack visibly shivered at the idea of shooting someone. “I-I don’t know if I—”

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, settling a hand on his arm. “I’m here and  _ I _ know how to shoot.” She mounted on Prince then, hoping on his back, and extended a hand to Jack. “You comin’?”

He seemed to hesitate for a second before grabbing her hand. She lifted him on Prince’s back, and his arms settled around her waist as she spurred the stallion, making him go slow at first, until they reached the gate of the ranch, unnoticed. Then she pushed him to his fastest, leaving Beecher’s Hope behind them, riding into the night.

***

Throughout the whole journey, Cassiopeia watched the sides of the road, sure that she would see a campfire with Sadie, that the bounty huntress would have stopped for the night, at least for a couple of hours. She slowed down every time she spotted flames between the trees, getting her binoculars out to see who that could be, but it was either average travelers, a group of men or hunters sleeping for the night. And no Sadie.

They reached Strawberry during the blue hour, birds chirping loudly around them, and Cassiopeia was sure that Arthur had found her note by now. She hoped he and John didn’t reach them before they found Sadie.

The town was mostly silent, and looked prettier than in the winter, the roads dry and the wooden bridge not slippery. They walked in at a slow pace and Cassiopeia peeked at the corner of every house, trying to spot Hera anywhere.

“She ain’t here,” she concluded with an annoyed sigh.

“Maybe we could—” Jack started.

A loud scream interrupted him.

He took a firm hold of her shirt, almost tearing the fabric apart, as Cassiopeia turned Prince toward the sound, urging him forward.

They stumbled upon Sadie about to hang a man.

Jack loudly gasped behind her but Cassiopeia didn’t miss a beat; she quickly dismounted, taking the revolver she stole so long ago out and ran toward them, climbing the stairs two at a time before stumbling upon Sadie, gun aimed at her. “Stop that!” she called, eyes hard on the woman.

Sadie blinked once, a look of utter surprise on her face. “What’re you doing here?!” Her hand was still on the hanging lever.

“Stopping you, ain’t that obvious? Let go of that thing.”

“Cass’!” Jack said, joining them on the platform, looking absolutely terrified. “Are you crazy?!”

“You too Jack?!”

“We don’t have time for this!” Cassiopeia interrupted. “Sadie, please, let go,” she added, softer, trying to put away her fear of having the woman at gunpoint. She was aiming at her hand, but still.

“And let that sonuvabitch run away? Ain’t happening,” Sadie growled, pulling the lever just a bit.

“No!” whimpered the man behind Cassiopeia. She glanced at him, seeing the bruises already forming on his face. “Nonono, p-p-please, I already told ya everything! Bell— I-I tried stopping him from killing this lil’ girl, I swear, that why I left him, ya have to believe me—”

“Shut up Cleet!”

“Sadie,” Cassiopeia called her, and Sadie’s eyes shot up to hers. They were so full of hatred she almost took a step backward, but managed to hold her ground. She lowered her gun, even taking one step forward. “That ain’t right, Sadie, you know it.”

“He is with  _ Micah _ , he  _ has _ to die—!”

“No one should be punished for someone else’s faults,” she interrupted her. “We all make bad choices during our life, and if we have to pay for every one of them, then Jack’s dad should be as dead as mine, and  _ I _ should be dead too.”

Sadie scoffed. “You’re just a kid, you don’t know what bad choice is.”

“Maybe not,” Cassiopeia conceded, taking another step forward. “But I’ve killed twenty-three people because I  _ didn’t _ have a choice and they still haunt my nights.”

Sadie really looked taken aback by this; even Arthur didn’t know how many people Cassiopeia had to kill. “You—” she started, voice very soft, before collecting herself. She shook her head and her eyes turned hard again. “You don’t understand.”

“If—” Jack said, surprising them both. He took a few steps toward Cassiopeia, pressing against her side. “If you go after him— He as a whole gang with him and you- you’re alone… You’ll—” He cut himself off, unable to finish the thought.

“You’ll die,” Cassiopeia finished in his place. And Sadie made a small move with her head, almost looking like a nod. “Wait,” she added. “You actually want to—”

“ _ No _ , goddamnit! And I ain’t discussing this with you kids, how old are ya anyway?”

“Twelve.”

“You’re eleven.”

“Shut up, Jack.”

Sadie let out a loud sigh, finally letting go of the lever to rub at her face with both of her hands. Cleet whimpered a bit again behind them. The sound attracted Sadie’s attention on him, and she pointed a hard finger at the man. “I let you go, you piece of shit, but you better disappear from this country before I found ya again, am I clear?”

“Th-thank you, y-you won’t hear from m-me again, I—”

“I said, am I clear?!”

“Yes! Yes, yes, thank you, I’m sorry—”

He had big tears rolling down his cheek as he passed the nose around his neck over his head, and he immediately dashed away, out of the town and out of sigh. Cassiopeia didn’t know the man, but if he was so afraid of death, he should probably choose another career.

“Now,” Sadie growled, pointing at them. “I’m getting you two back home.”

Cassiopeia felt herself blanched, because Arthur was probably on his way now and they would meet him along the way. He was surely furious. “Okay,” she still squeaked with Jack, because if it was getting Sadie away from Micah, it was worth it.

They left Strawberry as people just started to wake up, the hour still pretty early and the sun not up yet. They slowly walked away in silence, Sadie leading the way.

***

At some point during the ride back to the ranch, Jack fell asleep on Cassiopeia’s back. She was glad they were going at a slow pace, because having one hand on the reins and one on Jack’s hands around her to keep him from falling was tiring.

“You two are really reckless,” Sadie said, eyeing them with her brown eyes. They looked a lot like burnings embers in the orange morning light.

“Jack usually isn’t, I’m the one doing stupid shit,” Cassiopeia answered with a smile, remembering their adventures around the ranch. Her eyes met Sadie’s, and the smile disappeared. “But this felt important.”

Sadie scoffed, turning away from her and facing the road ahead. “What, stoppin’ me from killin’ an asshole?”

“Yes,” Cassiopeia asserted. “When you left, it felt wrong.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged and winced when she heard Jack groaned. “It was just— a feeling, I guess. That if we let you go and find Micah, something bad would happen.”

Sadie hummed, sounding unconvinced, but didn’t argue either. She changed the subject instead.

“So,” she started, voice as hoarse as usual, but sounding a bit unsure. Cassiopeia squinted at her. “Why did ya kill those people?”

Faces flashed before her eyes, making her heart race faster, and she turned away from Sadie, eyes glued to Prince’s mane. She patted his back under her, trying to push the memories away as much as she could while knowing it was no use. She might not know their names, but she’ll never forget them. She wished it’d be the same for her mother.

“I don’t like talking about it,” she answered after a few minutes of silence.

“Does Arthur know?”

“Yes.” Not entirely, but it didn’t matter to him. He was willing to know what she allowed him, never asking for more than she could give. She heard Sadie take a deep breath then, as if about to keep asking questions, but she didn’t let her, asking something herself. “Why do you want to kill Micah so much?”

It came out harder than she intended to, worked up by the memory, but Sadie only huffed a laugh, the sound bitter. Cassiopeia sighed, expecting the silence to become uncomfortable, but, surprisingly enough, Sadie answered.

“You wanna know what Micah did?” Her voice was full of anger again, and Cassiopeia really wished she could go back in time and not ask anything. Anger wasn’t something she wasn’t used to; she had seen it in Arthur multiple times. But Sadie? She radiated violence.

“He burned down my house, forced me to leave the place I called home, and when I finally started to have a family with the gang, he also burned that down to ashes because that’s the only thing he can do!” Hera snored, sounding as angry as Sadie, and Cassiopeia distanced Prince a bit from him.

She thought about how her life got destroyed when her mother died, thought about the Sisters, who tried to impregnate her with their wicked idea, to rebuild her like them, how they would have managed it if they hadn’t lowered their guard and she hadn’t escaped.

Then she thought about Arthur, how he changed her and her life and how he made his way into her heart. He wasn’t her mother, he never will be, but he became family anyway.

“Any house can be rebuilt,” she said in a quiet tone, and she felt Sadie’s eyes snap to her. “Sure, it’ll never be the same, but… rebuilding something doesn’t mean the memories of it disappear. It just adds new ones among the old.”

She half expected Sadie to tell her to shut up, that she didn’t know what she was talking about. But she didn’t. A long silence stretched between them, only interrupted by Jack’s snores. When Cassiopeia finally lifted her eyes to Sadie, she met hers.

The anger was still there, of course, but there was something else in her burning gaze. She looked thoughtful, studying Cassiopeia features, eyes lingering on her scars like everyone else, before humming and turning back to the road. Cassiopeia sighed, knowing that they probably won’t talk again for the rest of the ride.

They kept walking slowly on the large path, strangers greeting them from time to time as the sun kept rising. Jack didn’t wake up, engulfed in a dream that had him mumble unintelligible words and Cassiopeia felt the night catching up with her, tiredness making her lose track of time. She startled awake a few times, feeling her head fall forward, and as time passed, she really couldn’t wait to be back at Beecher’s Hope just to fall asleep.

Rubbing at her eyes and yawning, she didn’t register the sound of hooves ahead of them, at first, too engulfed in her sleepy mind to pay attention. But when she finally noticed it, opening her eyes and squinting at the light, her heart skipped a beat.

“Jack, wake up,” she called, startling her friend awake, and tugged at the reins to stop Prince.

“W-what!” He probably looked over her shoulder, also noticing the riders coming to them, because his grip on her tightened.

Arthur, John and Charles were running to them.

Cassiopeia and Jack barely got the time to dismount before they were on them, and she had to fight the urge to take a step back when Arthur made a beeline toward her. She closed her eyes, memories of hits flashing in her mind, expecting Arthur to do the same because that’s what adults do when a kid disappointed them and made them angry. But when he reached her, he only dragged her to his chest, hugging her tightly.

The fear left her as she opened back her eyes. She didn’t get the time to return the hug, though, because Arthur was already taking her away from him, holding her shoulders and furious gaze on her.

“ _ Are you completely out of your mind? _ ” he asked her, voice hard, and she had the decency to look at the ground. “What was you thinking? Disappearin’ in the middle of the night with Jack, only leavin’ a single ominous note behind? Do you realize how dangerous t’was?” She didn’t point to him the many times he left her alone at camp when he was out hunting, or the few days she spent alone in the winter because of one argument; she knew it wasn’t what he meant. “You could’ve got yourself killed, you could’ve got  _ Jack _ killed, for fuck sake!” He let go of one of her shoulder, and she tentatively looked up to him, seeing him pinching the bridge of his nose. He rubbed at his face then, looking very tired, and when their eyes met, she saw all the worry he wasn’t letting out.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” he said, much more softly, and her breath got caught in her throat.

“I—” she started, and gulped to make the feeling disappear. Took a deep breath. “I thought that— no one would help. And Charles—” she looked up at the man, standing a bit behind Arthur, seeing him frown, then back at Arthur. “He-he said we couldn’t stop her, that it was her choice, but—” She sighed deeply; it was just meaningless justification. “I was going to go alone, at first,” she revealed then, and Arthur took a sharp breath in, picturing her in danger. “But Jack showed up and, he was going to go anyway, and I figured it’d be safer if I took him with me.”

Cassiopeia searched for her friend then, and spotted him away with John, and with how Jack was nodding at his frowning father, they were probably having the same kind of talk.

Arthur let out a deep sigh, and she looked back at him. He dragged her to his chest again, rubbing at her back softly, and kissing her hairline.

“You got me real worried,” he whispered as she hugged him back this time. “I thought we was going to find both of you dead, or never find you at all, or just Prince without none of you.” He sighed a long breath, clutching her even tighter as she did the same. “Please, don’t do that again.”

“Next time, I’ll tell you,” she chuckled weakly against his shirt.

“I sure hope there won’t be a next time,” Arthur grumbled, backing away a bit to ruffle her hair.

She nodded, breathing deeply. “I’m sorry,” she added after a few seconds.

“I know you are, sweetheart,” he smiled, putting a kiss on her forehead.

“Arthur?” suddenly came Sadie’s voice, making them both look up at her. “Can I talk to you for a second? Privately.”

“Sure,” Arthur answered, frowning a bit. He looked down at Cassiopeia, patting her shoulder twice, before joining Sadie on a small walk.

Cassiopeia stared at them for a long moment, seeing Sadie struggling with her words - she was pretty sure she heard the words ‘Colter’, ‘grave’ and ‘home’ - when she felt a presence in her back. She turned away from them, meeting Charles' deep brown eyes just when he put a light hand on her shoulder, startling her a bit. She couldn’t say if there was a smile in his eyes or not; his face even more stoic than usual.

“Hey,” she said, voice tiny and unable to smile. Charles squeezed his hand, but didn’t answer. She gulped, feeling something like dread at the far pit of her stomach. “Are you… mad at me?” She really felt like a kid at this moment.

Charles only sighed, and he started to stroke her shirt with his thumb. “No,” he answered after a moment of silence. “I’m not.”

Cassiopeia was usually good at reading people, but right now, it was like facing a very plain wall. “Even with what I said?” She really didn’t want to hurt him; Charles might not be Arthur, but he was still important to her.

“Yes,” he said, and his voice grew a bit warmer. “Actually,” he added, “I think I’m proud of you.”

She blinked at him, completely taken aback. “Proud?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, and she could now see the smile in his eyes. “What I said about Sadie was wrong. And you didn’t let it stop you.” His gaze travelled from her to Arthur, then back. “Don’t tell him I said that, though,” he whispered then, conspiracy in his tone.

Cassiopeia smiled, nodding deeply, a laugh bubbling out of her.

It cut short when she suddenly felt very dizzy. She put a hand on her head, feeling the world spinning around her, the ground unstable under her feet. She tried to steady herself, her balance shifting, and it was as if gravity was suddenly calling her.

“Hey there,” Charles grunted with concern, grasping her other shoulder, her own hands grabbing his arms. There were black dots in her vision, and she could see Charles behind their curtain, but couldn’t focus on him. He managed to lower her on the ground, forcing her to sit, and she just realized how wobbly her legs were feeling.

“You hear me?” Charles asked, voice worried.

“Yeah,” she answered, and rubbed a hand over her face. “I just feel— strange.”

“Did you hit your head? Do you feel nauseous?”

She shook her head and immediately regretted it, closing her eyes firmly. “No,” she still said. “It’s not a concussion.” She remembered the feeling well enough, and it wasn’t close to it.

She heard Charles repositioning himself beside her, and he was now rubbing at her back, his palm very warm. She focused on the feeling, breathing steadily.

“You haven't slept at all since yesterday, right?” he demanded then. She opened her eyes back, glad to see that the dots had disappeared and that the world wasn’t completely spinning anymore.

“No.” She rubbed at her eyes.

Charles hummed, and he sounded a bit less worried. “It’s probably just exhaustion. You won’t be able to ride like that.”

Cassiopeia wasn’t able to stop the chuckle that crawled out of her throat. “I guess not.”

“Cass’?” She lifted her head at Arthur’s alarmed call, and he was on her in an instant, bending on his knees beside her. “What happened?”

“I’m fine, just very tired.” She yawned deeply. “I just need to sleep.” For a whole day, probably.

“Drinking and eating something would do you good too,” Charles added, an amused note in his voice. Arthur immediately got an apple out of his satchel at his words, handing him to Cassiopeia.

She immediately felt grossed out by the mere idea. “No thanks,” she said pushing it away, a disgusted grimace on her face.

Arthur huffed, clearly displeased. But he still tucked it away, and handed her his canteen instead. That, she could do; it was just water after all. She drank profusely, almost emptying the thing, and even if she wasn’t feeling completely well, it did her good enough.

“You’ll ride with me on the way back,” Arthur asserted, leaving no room for argument. She wouldn’t mind, honestly.

“Aren’t you still talking with Sadie?” Charles asked then, and Cassiopeia looked out at the woman. She was watching them with a concerned frown, but also seemed to be waiting.

“It can wait.”

“Or Cassiopeia can ride with me, Arthur.”

“Charles—”

“It’s important, isn’t it?” she interrupted them, turning back to Arthur. He blinked at her, surprised. “It feels important.”

“…It is,” he admitted.

“Then I’ll ride with Charles.” She let her head fall on Charles’ shoulder to prove her point; she could honestly have fallen asleep right there.

Arthur sighed, probably wanting to feel her close to ease his worries, but still nodded, rubbing at her arm. “A’right. You think you can stand up?”

“Sure,” she answered, but they both helped her anyway.

Charles and Cassiopeia both rode on Prince’s bareback, the two of them too big for Falmouth’s saddle. She was in front while Charles held the reins, and she let her head fall to his chest, one of his arms around her. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips, content with the warmth on her back, the slow sounds of hooves, and familiar voices around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggle a lot with this chapter, and I'm still not entirely satisfied with it, but, anyway _*shrug*_
> 
> I really wanted to spare Cleet in the game, and I was very disappointed that Sadie still kills him if you choose to, so that's my way to let him live


	16. To Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually keep one chapter in advance, and this time, the next one isn't completely written yet, but I realized it's almost been A MONTH since the last chapter, so I figured I could probably post this one!
> 
> I'm having struggle with the next one, though, so I have no idea when it'll be out :( But enjoy this one in the meantime!

Cassiopeia woke up in the middle of the night, eyes wide open and staring at the tent’s canvas, without understanding why. It wasn’t because of a nightmare, neither a weird dream; she vaguely remembered something about  _ dragons _ , but nothing much. There wasn’t any strange sound around her, Arthur snoring softly beside her, and bats hissing in the sky.

She frowned at herself, feeling so full of energy she could probably start her day right now. Weird. Her sleeping schedule had been kind of sloppy since their night ride, a few days back, but not that much.

She sat up on her bedroll, glancing at Arthur’s form on the other side, and frowned again at seeing him alone. Charles wasn’t always sleeping with Arthur – Charles was too used to sleeping alone and Arthur to sleeping with her – but they were slowly taking their marks, and she was sure she had heard him sneak into their tent last night.

Maybe that was what woke her up.

Cassiopeia sighed, rubbing at her eyes for a second before finally getting up; she didn’t feel like sleeping more anyway. She silently put a brown shirt and black pants on – Arthur grumbled a bit but didn’t wake up - before stepping outside of the tent, bare feet on the dry ground. She stretched her arms far above her head, hearing a small  _ pop _ coming from her left shoulder, and glanced at the campfire away from her.

The fire wasn’t burning brightly with the summer heat lingering during the night, its light barely illuminating the crates and the trunk next to it, but enough to enlighten Charles sitting next to it, his back to her. She walked to him, being noisy enough that he turned to her with a surprised look in his eyes, and sat next to him on the trunk, shoulder brushing with his, extending her feet toward the fire.

“It’s pretty early,” he softly said, looking at his pocket watch just to make sure.

Cassiopeia watched over his arm to look at the hour, and it was close to three in the morning. “It is,” she confirmed. She took a stick off the ground and started to poke at the fire, loving the way the burning ashes flew in the air.

“What are you doing up?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. Didn’t feel like sleeping more.”

Charles only hummed at that and she let her stick fall in the flames, watching it burn. She looked up at the sky then, and even if the light from the fire was lingering in her vision, she could still see the many stars dotting the dark canvas.

“Do you know constellations?” she asked, turning to Charles, who had followed her line of sight.

“Some,” he answered. He pointed at the dots, and she tried to see what he was showing. “Great Bear and Little Bear,” he said, and she managed to see them, looking like a saucepans. “The Swan, up here,” he added, and she couldn’t spot it this time. “And Cassiopeia, of course.”

She chuckled, seeing the W above their head. “It’s the only one I know,” she smiled. “My Ma’ never told me why she liked it so much.” Her smile fell a bit as her eyes got back to the fire. She brought her knee to her chest, hugging her legs. “I miss her.”

Charles didn’t say anything at that, and she wasn’t expecting him to anyway. He only pressed a bit more against her and she let her head fall on his shoulder with a small smile. Grasshoppers were stridulating around them, along with the sound of the cracking wood and an owl hooting in the distance. She relished in this peaceful atmosphere, closing her eyes and focusing on the world around them, Charles’ warmth against her, the wood under her feet.

After some time, Cassiopeia took a deep breath and let out a long and steady sigh, lifting her head up. She looked back at Charles, his eyes lost into the sky. “Why are you up?” she asked, her head falling on her knee.

Charles huffed a small laugh, glancing at her, a smile in his eyes. “Sometimes, I just can’t sleep.”

She hummed. “Arthur’s like that, too. He says bad things get in his mind.” That’s what he told her when she was young, at least, and she now understood that it was memories rising back from the far pit of his head. She was like that, from time to time, waking up with a scream stuck in her throat, but it wasn’t that often.

“I know,” he said after some time. “I’ve always known him like this.” He huffed a laugh then, and she tucked her head on her palm, elbow on her knee. “When we was with the gang, there was times he wouldn’t sleep for several days. He was always doing a lot for everyone.” He turned toward the tent, and the smile on his lips was both sad and fond. “It’s good, to see him rest more.”

Cassiopeia had to agree; Arthur was restless most of the time, always busying himself with something. It changed a bit since Charles and him started to be more open with each other, taking time for themselves more often.

But they were going to leave in a few weeks. Arthur had brought it up again a few days before Sadie decided to go after Micah, but he hadn’t told her if Charles was coming.

“Do—” she started, then stopped, knowing it wasn’t exactly her place to ask. But, too late, Charles’ eyes were already on her, waiting for her to say more. Well, she’ll just have to ask it differently.

She pondered on her word for a moment under Charles’ patient gaze. “Did Arthur… ask you?” she carefully said.

He raised an eyebrow in confusion and she almost hit her own face. “Ask me what?”

She fought the urge to groan, but she could see in Charles’ eyes that her face was giving her away. “About, uh…” How could she phrase that without giving anything away if Arthur really hadn’t asked him yet? “About coming?” She cringed inside herself.

Charles blinked at her, confused, and she was really starting to think she had messed this up when his whole face brightened in understanding. “You mean about coming with you two, right?” He frowned then. “Hadn’t Arthur told you?”

“Told me what?” It was very strange to have their role reversed in such a short time, and she really understood how confused he had been. What was Arthur supposed to tell her? That Charles wasn’t joining them? That they were leaving later? Sooner?

Charles closed his eyes for a few seconds, sighing deeply. “He’s such an idiot,” he groaned.

Cassiopeia chuckled weakly, still unsure about what was about to come. “I mean, sure,” she agreed, because Arthur was a strange person and an idiot. “But why?”

He opened his eyes back, and she could see the conflict in them. “He was supposed to tell you,” and she heard what he didn’t really say; that Charles  _ wasn’t _ the one supposed to tell her.

“You or Arthur, it doesn't make a difference to me,” she said sincerely, trying to convey something she couldn’t put into words. Arthur was her father, would always be, but Charles was slowly becoming something similar. It wasn’t exactly the same feeling, maybe it never will, but it didn’t matter. She loved them both, even if differently.

Charles didn’t say anything, and she grabbed his hand in hers, taking a hold of his palm, feeling the callouses and the softness of his skin, warm under her fingers. He held them back, gently squeezing, and she knew he understood.

“Of course I’m coming,” he said, a smile in his voice as he watched their hands.

Her shoulders shrunk in relief at that, suddenly realizing how scared she had been that he wouldn’t come. “Great,” Cassiopeia smiled widely. Then it turned into a grin. “And I’m definitely going to slap Arthur tomorrow.”

“Aren’t we already tomorrow?” Charles chuckled softly.

“Oh, c’mon Charles!” she laughed quietly, hitting his shoulder with hers. “You know what I mean. ‘Til the sun’s up, we’re not tomorrow.” She said it with a firm nod, as if her words held the truth.

She got an idea then. “Maybe I could hide something in his shoes.”

Charles snorted, incredulous. “Hide what?”

“I don’t know, rocks? Maybe sand? Oh, I know!  _ Manure _ .”

“Please, don’t hide manure in my boots.”

Cassiopeia jumped at Arthur’s voice behind her, letting go of Charles’ hand and turning around to hit Arthur’s leg. “You scared me!”

He rubbed at his face while sitting next to her, hand falling between her shoulder blades. “And you two woke me up,” he grumbled, then yawned. “You do realize it’s the middle of the night?” His eyes were on her, but still clouded by sleep.

“Sorry, dear,” Charles said softly, reaching across Cassiopeia’s lap to hold Arthur’s knee. “Didn’t mean to.”

“T’s okay,” he said, huffing a laugh, putting his hand atop Charles’, and rubbing the knuckles with his thumb. “What were ya talking ‘bout, anyway? Did I do somethin’ to deserve manure in my shoes?”

“Well, yes,” Cassiopeia asserted, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to look bigger than she was. Arthur frowned at her, an incredulous smile on his lips, apparently finding this very funny. She huffed; it wasn’t supposed to be funny! “You didn’t tell me Charles was coming with us.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Oh.” He let go of her back, scratching the back of his head, and made a move to hide his eyes under the brim of his hat, but he didn’t have it. He clicked his tongue in annoyance once he realized it, and she chuckled at him. “Well, I— kinda forgot.”

Her eyes were on Arthur, but she could imagine Charles’ face when he scoffed quietly. “You forgot.”

“I can’t always remember everythin’,” Arthur defended himself, arms crossed now. He uncrossed them almost right after, pointing at her with an accusing finger. “With you runnin’ away, my mind was a bit  _ busy _ .”

“Sure, blame me,” Cassiopeia laughed, elbowing him. He shied away from her pointy bones, brushing her arm away.

“You know now anyway, so what’s the problem?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and with how his eyes travel from her to Charles, they were probably wearing the same look. “A’right, am sorry,” he growled, rolling his eyes deeply. “Happy now?”

“Mildly,” she answered with a shrug. Charles hummed his agreement.

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” Arthur chuckled darkly.

Cassiopeia knew that tone.

She tried to stand up and get away, but Arthur was faster; he passed an arm around her neck, bringing her to his chest and ruffling her hair with his knuckles, making her both laughing and squirming, desperately pushing his hand away. Arthur ended up laughing with her, letting her go, as she tried to flatten her hair, to no avail. Since she let her hair grow, it was getting harder to properly take care of it; she didn’t remember it being so curly and she wondered if having it that short somehow affected it.

She got stopped in her thoughts when she suddenly heard  _ Charles _ laugh.

She turned to him, completely baffled; she had never heard him laugh. Not that openly at least. Chuckle, snicker, sure, but not a sound like that.

It wasn’t a loud and heartily laugh like Arthur’s, or even something very playful like Uncle’s. It was a soft sound, barely above the sounds of the night, but still coming from the bottom of his heart. Charles had a fist above his smile, half hiding it, and his eyes were shut tight as he was holding at his chest, face turned to the fire, illuminating all of his happy wrinkles. Arthur was very silent next to her.

When Charles’ laugh finally died down, he looked up at them and frowned, his smile turning to a smirk. “What?”

Cassiopeia shook her head as Arthur answered in a cheerful tone. “Oh, nothing. You’re just the most adorable man on earth.”

Charles snorted, straightening a bit, and she was sure he was blushing. “I ain’t.”

“You are.” Arthur’s voice had turned to something more sincere and vulnerable. He stood up beside her and made his way to Charles, bending on one knee in front of him and taking his hands in his.

“Maybe,” Charles admitted playfully, intertwining their fingers. “But you’re the most beautiful, then.”

“Well, sorry to break it to you, love, but that’s still you.”

“I’m only second, and you’re first.” Arthur was about to argue with that, but Charles shut him up with a kiss, surprising him. But not enough for him to not answer it, lifting a hand to Charles’ cheek, deepening it.

Cassiopeia had seen enough. “I’m going back to bed,” she deadpanned, standing up and turning away. She didn’t turn back when they started to laugh quietly, knowing they were hiding in each other’s neck – as they always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one, but I had a lot of fun writing it!


	17. To Draw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for graphic injury, PTSD and Panic Attack

“Who’s a good boy?” Cassiopeia crooned at Prince. Her stallion snored softly as she petted his neck, nodding profusely. “Yeah, that’s you! You’re the best boy!” He shook his neck, then his whole frame, disturbing the saddle and bursting a chuckle out of her.

Charles made a strange sound next to her on Falmouth, and she could practically hear him roll his eyes, but when she turned to him, he was wearing a small fond smile that just made her chuckle more.

They had both left Beecher’s Hope after noon, going to Blackwater for some last minute purchase for their upcoming journey. John and Abigail’s wedding was in two days, and Cassiopeia, Charles and Arthur would leave them soon after, Sadie coming along for a while before going on her own. From what Cassiopeia had understood, she was going back to the old house she had shared with her husband. For closure, she had said.

Since she started staying with them, Cassiopeia had discovered how funny Sadie could be, even if in a strange, brutal way. She finally seemed to be living, chatting for hours with Abigail or helping the boys in the steady work around the ranch. She would joke around, making fun of everyone in a harmless way, mocking Arthur every time Charles would make him blush out of nowhere, or calling John out all the time he said something stupid, never fearing his anger.

Sadie was a nice person to be around, when she wasn’t trying to murder someone. And with the stories the adults started to share around the campfire, it had been apparently quite often.

A bell chiming took Cassiopeia out of her thoughts, and she pouted as Blackwater came into view. She wanted to challenge Charles in a race; she was pretty sure she could win, but she had never really seen Falmouth ride fast before. Well, maybe on the way back.

“So,” he started, stopping at the edge of Blackwater. “What do we need?”

She rummaged in her satchel, getting out the list Arthur gave her. He wanted to come with them, at first, but John had cornered him, suddenly freaking out about marrying Abigail. Arthur had smacked his own head in frustration and took his brother on a ride, just the both of them, to put some sense in his head.

“Well,” she said, scanning the piece of paper. “Canned food, ground coffee, tea… A new percolator, the last one broke… A new journal, Arthur’s is almost complete… And a tent.” She frowned, and looked up at Charles. “A tent?”

He nodded, as if they didn’t already have one. “It’ll be for you.”

Cassiopeia blinked. “For me?”

“Yes,” Charles smiled. “Like Jack with his room. It’ll be yours.”

She blinked again, barely believing it. A tent just for herself? Leaving the other one just for Arthur and Charles? That would give them a great bit of privacy.

She cleared her throat, stopping her mind from wandering into a dangerous territory— and ultimately failing. She groaned loudly, pushing all the vivid pictures away. “Alright, let’s go,” she grumbled, squeezing her knees lightly to move Prince’s forward. Charles hummed behind her, sounding confused, probably not understanding what had gotten into her, but still followed her on the paved roads of Blackwater.

They got into the grocery store – the one with the stuffed wolf – and Charles took care of the shopping, buying everything they needed from the catalog, while she wandered through the shelves, looking for anything they might need.

She was really tempted by chocolate or candies, but knew they didn’t have that much money to spare. There were fruits, but with the summer, they could probably find some on the roads, and Arthur was really good at finding wild carrots – even if they tasted strangely.

But as she turned a corner, her eyes fell on something she hadn’t thought of in a while. Bared in the sunlight stood colored pencils, along with watercolor. An open wooden case, for everyone to know all the colors and the paintbrushes. She bit her lip, taking a few steps toward it and staring at them.

Cassiopeia could do so much with that. All the birds and animals she had drawn, she could finally add colors to it, making them look exactly like in real life. Studying every fur and feathers, really giving them justice.

“What did you find?”

She jumped at Charles’ voice right behind her. “Nothing!” she claimed, turning around, but his eyes were already on the case.

He hummed. “You want it?”

She really did. “No, no,” she denied, shaking her hands in front of her along with her head. “I’m fine with my pencil.” She wasn’t. “And it’s expensive anyway.” She hadn’t looked at the price, but it couldn’t be cheap.

Charles turned to her, arms folded, and gave her _a look_.

She crossed her arms too, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

His shoulders shook in a silent chuckle. “You’re just like Arthur.”

“What you mean?”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m—!” She was about to deny it, but really, that would just prove his point. She turned away from him, glaring at an apple on a shelf, and fuming in her head. She was usually good at this, she lied to John, Abigail and Uncle all the time, even to Jack from time to time, mostly to not hurt him and about Rufus. But then again, it was about meaningless things, and none of them were Arthur; she couldn’t lie to him.

And she couldn’t lie to Charles too, now, apparently.

“Cass’,” he called her, and Cassiopeia immediately turned back to him. He only ever used her nickname when he had something important to tell her, to give more weight to his words. He had a small smile on his lips, something soft, but there was a bit of sadness deep in his eyes, and she got caught in the dark iris.

“You know you’re allowed to ask for things, right?” Charles asked her, and she knew he was waiting for an answer.

She sighed quietly. “I know,” she said, eyes falling to the floor. She looked back up when he gently let his hand fall on her shoulder, holding her.

“You are talented,” he asserted, detaching every word. She pressed her lips, feeling herself flushing under the compliment. “And everything you do is full of details. You’d do wonder with that.”

Cassiopeia glanced at the case, at all the colors it had, and everything she could do, everything she could try, how she could learn to use the watercolor and add landscapes, where the birds lived, their nests, their eggs, their babies.

She sighed again. “But we don’t have the money for it.”

“Cassiopeia,” Charles sighed back, his voice soft and full of fondness. “You may act and look older than your age, but you’re still eleven, you’re still just a kid.” She pouted a bit at it, but knew he was right. She would still be a kid even if she was twelve. “It’s not your place to worry about the money.”

“I know,” she shrugged. “It’s just… habits, I guess.”

“Mh, I guess,” he conceded, tilting his head forward. “Traveling with Arthur for three years probably didn’t help.”

She snorted. “No.”

“So,” he added, and she met his gaze again. Soft and caring. “Do you want it?”

She bit at her lower lip, pushing the negation away. Her head shrunk between her shoulders. “Can I have it?” she quietly said, barely a whisper.

Charles smiled, a proud light dancing in his dark eyes, and nodded once. “Of course,” he answered.

She discovered then that Charles had savings, always keeping cash just in case something happened – “You never know when your saddle will break.” – or for special occasions. Cassiopeia had to fight the urge to bounce on her feet as she attached the wooden case to her saddle, absolutely delighted and definitely wanting to try it this instant. But she knew she would have to wait to be back at the ranch; she wouldn’t risk to lose anything in the streets.

“I’ll go to the post office and we’ll get back,” Charles said, chuckling at her clear excitement.

Cassiopeia frowned. “The post office? Why?”

“Gotta post this letter,” he replied, getting it out of his satchel.

She instantly got curious. “Who’s it for?”

Charles smirked, starting to walk toward the office on the other side of Blackwater. “I can’t tell you.”

She gaped, taken aback, and trotted after him, trying to match his steps. “Why not?” she asked, trying to sound offended.

“I promised Arthur I wouldn’t.”

She squinted at him, a mischievous grin spreading on her lips. “But he wouldn’t know.”

Charles glanced at her, grinning back. “I don’t break promises.”

Cassiopeia groaned, pouting, and Charles only chuckled at her attempts to make him talk. She knew it was no use; if he really wanted to, Charles was as talkative as a rock.

“Stay here, it won’t take long,” he told her as they reached the station. She nodded, heading toward a bench to wait for him outside as he entered the place.

Five minutes later and wondering what he was doing, Cassiopeia was very bored. There was nothing to do, she had let her journal in her saddle, and the streets were mostly empty, providing nothing to gossip over.

Two more minutes, and she got up, walking toward the paperboy and buying the last newspaper, just to have something to do.

The first articles weren’t very interesting. There was something about the Chelonians, apparently coming into West Elizabeth, inviting people to join them and their turtle. Another one was about the Mayor of Blackwater, wanting to add a trainline heading toward the city to help it flourish even more. One was about the Skinner Brothers, still roaming in the country, saying they had apparently moved to New Austin.

Then a title caught her attention, and she stopped breathing.

 _MICAH BELL KILLED_.

“Well, shit,” she breathed, not believing her eyes.

_FAMED GUNSLINGER._

_\----_

_WANTED FOR BLACKWATER ROBBERY._

_He was believed to be hiding in The Grizzlies for many years, emerging to sow mayhem and murder to fuel a life on the run. Micah Bell, one of the most notorious outlaws of the region and a former member of the infamous Dutch van der Linde's gang, was slain at his hideout. The train robber and desperado evaded authorities for years, during which time he killed two dozen men. He had sworn an oath to compatriots that he would never be taken alive._

_With the concentrated efforts of Rangers, Pinkertons and local law, they had finally found his exact location, but Bell fought tooth and nail against the men and ended up killed by Agent Edgar Ross, whom deplore the many lives lost to the fight and sworn to catch all of Bell’s associates. Bell was without a doubt the most desperate outlaw at large in the area, striking terror into the hearts of carriage and stagecoach riders who have long feared his murderous reputation._

_Several sheriffs had been elected in the country and each had vowed to bring Bell to justice. One, Sheriff Braxton Hefner, finally landed Bell in jail, where he was tried and sentenced to be hanged. Two days before paying the price for his crimes he broke jail and had been at large._

“Can’t believe it,” Cassiopeia huffed in sour laugh. Without a date in the article, there was no way to know when it happened, but she could easily picture Sadie in the middle of the gunfire. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

“The youth reading the newspaper?” suddenly came a booming voice not too far from her, making her jump. “A sight to behold!”

She looked up from the paper, seeing a man walking to her and sitting on the other side of the bench, letting out a content sigh. He was wearing a plain white shirt, its sleeves rolled up with the heat and its bottom tucked into dark grey pants. It was all held together by a red belt, where two holsters were attached, a Schofield in each. A large black hat was covering his head, darkening his brown eyes, but making all his wrinkles more prominent. He seemed old, older than Arthur, but not as old as Uncle, his black short hair only having some patch of white strands and his mustache being slightly salt-and-pepper.

He looked at her with a smile, an amused light dancing in his eyes as he tucked one arm above the back of the bench and placed his ankle above his knee, looking very relaxed. “Anything interesting in there?” he asked, pointing at the paper.

Cassiopeia looked him up and down, and deemed him unthreatening, despite his guns; his demeanor was welcoming and friendly. “I guess,” she answered, shrugging. She saw him glance at the words, and without thinking about it, bent the paper toward him, moving closer so he could have a proper look.

She kept reading a few other articles – none as interesting as the one about Micah – as the stranger held the opposite page between his fingers, bending forward to read about the death of the outlaw, seeming as interested as her.

The post office’s doors opened then, and she looked up to see Charles _finally_ getting out, a scowl on his face and looking particularly annoyed, which was quite the sight. She suddenly remembered the clerk working here, and could guess why. He sighed as he turned to her, and he seemed to study the stranger behind her as she smiled at him.

She heard a move beside her, the man letting go of the pages, and he let out a gasp just as Charles’ eyes widened.

Cassiopeia’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Charles reaching for his shotgun, her hand flying to her own revolver on instinct, ready to—

The stranger behind her didn’t let her, grabbing her wrist and yanking her out of the bench, bending her arm in a painful twist in her back, forcing her to stand in front of him.

“What the—” she growled, trying to squirm out of his hold despite his hold tightening on her. “Let me go—!”

She stopped when the cold barrel of his Schofield hit her temple, her blood turning to ice.

“Let her go!” She knew Charles well enough to recognize the fear behind his low fury, and her eyes shot to him. She met his for a second as his shotgun was drawn to both her and the man on her back, preventing him from helping her in any way, and the anxious light in his eyes was an echo to the terror making her heart beat way too fast.

“Well, well,” the man slurred, his breath very close to her ear, making her shiver. His friendliness had completely disappeared. “Mister Smith. What a pleasure to see you again.”

“Can’t say the same, Dutch,” Charles said, wrath in his voice, the threat unmistakable.

At the name, all of her blood changed from ice to fire.

Dutch van der Linde had been sat beside her, reading the news over her shoulder.

She didn’t know much about the man, just what the adults agreed to tell around Jack and her. There were the good memories of a father figure, teaching John and Arthur how to read, to ride, to shoot. Of a man trying to do good and be free in a world where he didn’t belong anymore, bringing his family with him, pushing them with confident words and grand gestures.

But they always talked about it with something bitter in mind, a betrayal never forgiven. A leader who lost his mind to the numerous deaths around him and the words of a traitor in his ears.

Cassiopeia knew there was once something good in Dutch, but the first thought that crossed her mind was how he had left Arthur to die.

She never thought herself to be the vengeful kind, but the sudden anger boiling under her skin was so hot it burnt the fear freezing her.

“How’ve you been, son?” Dutch asked, taking a step backward, forcing her to follow him. “It’s been, what, seven, eight years?”

“Eight,” Charles spat, stepping forward.

She looked around them as best she could, disappointed to see that everyone had deserted the street, but not surprised; civilians in big cities rarely stayed around a commotion involving guns and a hostage. She hoped someone had at least ran toward the police station.

“Eight years, of course.” Dutch kept dragging her with him while backing up. “I reckon the last time was with the, what was their name again? The Natives.”

“The Wapiti.” Each step seemed to angered Charles even more.

She tried to squirm against Dutch’s hold again, but he only tightened his grip on her wrist, bending her arm even more, a silent warning. But if she couldn’t use one of her hands, the other was free of anything. Very slowly, she moved it around her hip, and was glad to feel the handle of her knife against her thumb.

“Right.” They had reached the end of the wooden platform, and she almost fell as he pulled her down on the ground after him. “How did it end up? Wasn’t one of them injured?”

Charles’s free hand clenched in a tight fist. “Eagle Flies died in his father’s arms, thanks to you, and your actions forced them to move.”

Once she regained her balance, she carefully moved and locked her palm around the familiar leather of her weapon, clutching it loosely to not attract Dutch’s attention on it.

“And you stayed to help them, hadn’t you?” Dutch let out a dry chuckle, something like madness leaking into the sound. “Too bad you didn’t come back, maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe Arthur—”

“You don’t get to say his name,” Charles snarled in a low tone, and for a second, she got reminded of a wolf ready to strike. “You left him to die.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” She clenched her teeth in rage at the poor excuse.

“You always had a choice, Dutch, and you chose to drag everyone into Hell with you by following a snake.”

Dutch stayed silent at that, finally stopping, and she bumped into his chest at the move. She silently cursed when her bent elbow touched him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“A snake,” he repeated while Charles stopped a few steps away from them. “Yes, Micah was a snake. And I killed him.”

Charles made a startled move at the news, and Cassiopeia quietly gaped. That’s not what they said in the article, they said it was someone named Edgar Ross who had killed him, that they had been ambushed him—

“That’s right, my dear,” he said in her ear, and it made her shiver with disgust. “I killed the bastard myself, not some All-Mighty Pinkerton’s agent. Oh, we had drifted apart long ago, right after everything, because I needed _time_ , Charles, time to think and time to mourn.” A strangled noise escaped Charles, flaming rage in his eyes, clearly outraged. Dutch ignored him. “But he found me again, and I thought it’d be a good opportunity to end it all. Not right away, of course, I had to make him _believe_ I was on his side. But a snake will always be a snake, and he called the Pinkertons on me. I didn’t let him escape with it, and killed him just as they came.”

And now Dutch was here, trying to escape the law one more time, to blend into Blackwater like he belonged here.

It suddenly became too much; the hand on her wrist, the gun on her head, his chest on her back, the pain along her twisted arm, Charles’ anger, Dutch’s insanity, Arthur’s memory, it was _too much—_

Cassiopeia bent forward, paying no heed to the pain shooting along her arm and shoulder, drew her knife out in one swift movement and planted it in his leg.

Dutch let out a strangled cry, triggering his gun, and she felt the heat of the bullet on the back of her neck, her mind going blank for a second when she realized how close to death she had been.

But she didn’t let go of her knife while Dutch growled a threatening sound behind her, twisting the blade in his flesh in a way she knew to be painful, and his knee gave up under him, forcing him to let go of her.

When his hand left her wrist, she stumbled forward, pulling on her weapon and dragging it out of his leg, and fell on her knee on the paved ground, scratching her palm. She immediately fully turned around, only to see Dutch’s burning dark gaze and the barrel of his Schofield right on her face.

A gunshot echoed in the street, and his gun flew out of his hand, his hand pulverized, sending droplets of blood on her skin and red shirt. She stared at his face contorted with pain, her fast breath hitching in her throat as he grabbed his dislocated hand, bringing it to his chest, blood pouring out of it and staining his white shirt.

Charles’ frame appeared in her vision then, stepping in front of her and smashing the butt of his gun on Dutch’s head, sending him to the floor, the man knocked by the force of it.

She pushed herself up, hands trembling as adrenaline left her, thoughts halting, unable to tear her eyes out of Dutch’s wound.

Cassiopeia felt as if she was nine again, knife in hand, covered in blood and the dead bodies of the Sisters in front of her, stabbed so many times she thought the ground would be eternally red. A cry tried to get out of her throat, but she gulped it down; she wasn’t safe, she had to run, to be silent, to get out of here, to—

Hands grabbed her shoulders then, making her jump hard, and she got yanked back into reality, finding herself face to face with Charles’ soft brown eyes filled with worry, her breath fast, too fast, like she couldn’t fill her lungs, and it felt like drowning.

Charles’s lips were moving, he was talking, but she couldn’t hear him. He pushed on her shoulders, forcing her down, making her sit on the dry ground of Blackwater, her hands grabbing a fistful of sand. He rubbed at her arms, and she focused on the sensation and on his eyes, full of patience, of love, and she saw him take a deep breath, purposeful. She tried to mimic him, breathing as much as she could, her whole frame shaking, and he nodded, a proud light in his gaze, a soft, confident smile on his lips. He did it again, and she copied him, then again, and again.

Breathing became easier and the ringing sound in her ears started to disappear.

“—oing great, darling, c’mon, in and out.” Another deep breath. “You’re okay, Cass’, you’re fine, keep breathing.” In and out.

“ _Charles_ ,” she croaked then, her voice so tiny and feeling very young. There were tears rolling down her cheeks. How long had she been crying?

“It’s okay.” His voice was very steady, warm and soothing, miles away from his roaring anger with Dutch. Remembering the man, she tried to look at his body again, but Charles blocked her view. “Breathe, darling, breathe.” She breathed. “Good. You’re good Cass’, you’re alright.” His hands moved from her shoulders to her face, cupping her cheeks and brushing her tears away with calloused thumbs. She kept breathing, closing her eyes and relishing in the warmth of his skin.

Cassiopeia leaned forward, and Charles pulled her in her tight hug, her face finding its place at the crook of his neck, one of his hands locking into her hair and the other rubbing at her back. His heart was beating fast against her skin as she grabbed the back of his shirt, still shaking and crying. Her own fear catching up with her, she realized how scared Charles had been for her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered on his shoulder. “We’re fine.”

“We’re fine,” he repeated, rocking her lightly. “You were very brave, you know that?” She shook her head; she had been driven by anger and adrenaline, nothing else. “You were. You _are_.” A dry chuckle escaped him then, sounding tired. “But please, never do that again.”

She chuckled back, exhaustion falling on her bones. “Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was anyone expecting DUTCH???
> 
> I needed to deal with him so I could cancel Red Dead 1, now they can all live happily ever after
> 
> The next and last chapter isn't started yet, or barely, so please, be patient with me! It'll come around at some point, promise!  
> In the mean time, all your comments give me strenght and I thank all and everyone of you for sticking with me!
> 
> Also, not exactly relatated, but I didn't exactly write the article about Micah, I found out there was already one in game, so I just altered it to fit this au


End file.
